House of the Rising Sun
by Embrasia
Summary: SLAVE & THE SOLDIER PREQUEL: Arthur's betrothed to a rich lady, but he's falling for a slave girl named Guinevere. Gwaine, a poor Irishman, loves a forbidden British noblewoman. & Tristan loves Isolde, the headliner of a brothel where the girls fear a sadist & killer. What will U.S. Marshal Gwaine do as evidence points to a friend? WARNING: BONDAGE, KINK, THREESOME, S&M :)
1. The Perfect Victim

The Perfect Victim

_New Orléans, Louisiana Mid 1800's._

The sun was just beginning to rise over the frost covered meadow. The magistrate, Uther Pendragon, examined the bruised and swollen body of the dead woman. He covered his nose and mouth with a cloth heavily perfumed with eucalyptus. The scented handkerchief was no match for the pungent rotten odor: the very aroma of death it's self.

Uther rubbed his tired eyes. His eyebrows furrowed with irritation as he questioned his subordinate, "What do you conclude U.S. Marshall Gwaine?"

The young Marshall took a deep breath_. This is my first case as a law enforcement officer. Now is my time to shine. _He confidently informed his superior, "The victim was found naked, face down in a field. The degree of decomposition as well as the amount of insect activity suggest that she died three or four days ago. She's a Caucasian female. Most likely cause of death appears to be a broken neck after a forced sexual encounter. The blood and skin under the victim's fingernails suggests that she fought her attacker. Moreover I've declared her death a murder."

Gwaine waited for what seemed a year for the magistrate's response. _I pray he is impressed with my findings._

Uther informed him. "Excellent work officer, but you neglected to notice some vital clues. Her rough callused feet suggest that this woman spent a great deal of time barefoot. Her fingernails are worn to the nub and her hands un-manicured. There isn't a trace of makeup on the victim's face. This crime was obviously NHI."

"My apologies Sir, I'm not familiar with that phrase," Gwaine admitted with a confused look.

"NHI means no humans involved," Magistrate Pendragon explained. "This woman's hands are ridden with calluses and tiny cuts from picking cotton. This is no white woman, just a light-skinned slave. That means her death should be declared poaching or destruction of private property, not murder. Property loss is not your department. This was a gigantic waste of both of our time."

An appalled Gwaine gasped, "Property Loss!"

The magistrate assured his young apprentice, "Pass this case on to Reynolds. He handles thefts. You did well, just make sure that there's an actual murder to prosecute before having me summoned to the scene of a crime."

"Yes Sir," Gwaine grumbled as they left the scene. He took a final glance at the violated and broken body of some unfortunate man's daughter. _I am going to get justice for you milady. I don't care what Uther says._

* * *

_Four Weeks Later_

Seventeen year old Tristan swept the floor of his tailor shop, the only thing he had left of his dearly departed father Antonio. His haughty mother had refused for Tristan to see his dad due to her own shame of lying with a poor Italian immigrant. Antonio was of inferior birth and had paid for his tailor business with his winnings from bare knuckle boxing. Though entirely unsuitable for marriage, Tristan's mother could not deny her physical attraction. She allowed Antonio to share her bed for years but refused to marry him even after she bore his son. She cast out the father of her child once she'd secured a suitable match of proper lineage and ample wealth; a husband worthy of the massive dowry her parents left for her. Tristan was barely allowed to see Antonio after his mother married. She would allow Tristan's stepfather to ridicule Antonio regularly and cared not if Tristan was in the room. This caused screaming arguments as Tristan grew older. And one day his birth father died. At the tender age of fifteen Tristan stood before his dad's coffin. As the pallbearers lowered it into the ground the boy heard yet another nasty comment grumbled from the lips of his stepfather. This resulted in a fist fight right there in the cemetery. His mother's screams bellowing as her husband and her son pelted one another between the headstones. Tristan soon got the better of him. His birth father hadn't been allowed adequate time to teach him much, but he made certain to teach his only child the art of boxing. As fellow mourners broke up the fight Tristan vowed to move out. He took up residence in Antonio's shop and only visits his family for Sunday dinners.

Tristan ceased to sweep as the bell on the door sounded. His heart skipped a beat and his breath caught in his throat. She was back for the fourth time that month and he was completely lost in her sapphire eyes and bee stung lips. She wore her golden tresses in an elegant braid which fell over one shoulder and at nineteen summers she was just two years older than Tristan.

The broom fell from his hand with a clatter, "How may I help you Mademoiselle Isolde?"

She smiled politely, "A yard of fine red fabric and that, Monsieur Tristan, is all."

"A yard won't be nearly enough."

"The outfit's rather small."

He nodded. _Oh must be for a child. Damn I hope not. _"Please say you are not married."

"I am not, but if I were?" She grinned.

"Then I would be ruined for all women," Tristan announced ever so dramatically and she giggled as he went to fetch her fabric.

As he measured and cut he gave her his most charming smile, "Germany has the best beer I've ever tasted. You should travel with me sometime."

She leaned over the counter and locked eyes with him. Though no one was around she whispered, her soft wet lips brushing his ear, "You would ask of me to go halfway around the world with you; why not upstairs?"

Tristan swallowed hard, "Are you jesting Mademoiselle?"

She took him by the hand. They raced up the stairs. Left the fabric on the stand. Tristan's tongue was dancing about her mouth before they could make their way to his bedroom, fumbling and snatching at each other's clothes as they stumbled down the narrow corridor. She unbuckled his belt and snatched him down atop her.

"This is wrong," Tristan heaved breathlessly as she covered his neck in soft sweet kisses, "I am Catholic and we are not married."

She giggled and slipped her hands down his pants and around his rock hard shaft before he could stop her, "Your friend says otherwise."

"My friend is not the boss of me," Tristan vowed. "I respect women regardless of what he wants to do."

"I never said you didn't. I merely ask that you live with me right here in this moment." She placed her lips upon his and they melted into a passionate kiss as she teased his tongue with her own until he ached with a primal need unlike any he'd ever felt before.

He pulled up her dress and slid off the delicates beneath, no longer caring about his religious vows, not giving a damn at the moment if his unattended shop was being looted. He wanted, needed, had to have her and spread her thighs with hips and sliding into her sheath; so wet and hot in anticipation of his love. The belt of the pants he didn't take time to remove brushed against her legs as he found a steady beat, thrusting into her with vigor and wanton desire he could admit nothing so wrong had ever felt so right.

"You feel amazing," Tristan groaned lustfully without breaking his rhythm, placing sweet kisses upon the sensitive skin of her neck. "We must marry and do... this... all... the... time." He vowed punctuating each word with a stroke that went deep into the belly of her.

Isolde shed a tear at his innocence and pulled him into a steamy kiss as he pushed all of himself inside her. She trembled with a wanton moan, gasped and gripped the sheets, her heart racing, tears flowing at the pleasure of them joined.

She called out the name of, "Tristan" at the climax in her loins.

His tongue now intertwined with hers, his hips now fucking fast, her claws about his shirted back, he knew he wouldn't last, the fire mounting deep within, the passion to behold.

With a final mighty pump and thrust he groaned the name, "Isolde."

He lay breathlessly atop her affraid and unsure of what to do. He'd never allowed his desires to override his good judgement before. I finally got a shot with her and I've ruined it.

She smiled and lifted her head to place a sweet peck on his lips.

He breathed a sigh of relief. _Thank God she isn't disappointed in me._

He pulled out of her a moment later looking fretfully. "I must go back to work my dear," He said regretfully. "I still have a shop to clean, and fabrics to retrieve. My shift ends very soon though, and I beg you not to leave."

She knew that she had secrets. She knew it wasn't right. But her heart soon did the talking, "Okay I'll spend the night."

He smiled brightly and hugged her tight placing affectionate kisses on the top of her head, "I'm going to make this up to you I swear. I am normally a gentleman."

* * *

He took her to the ballet, bought her wine at dinner. Sure he started things off wrong, but he was sure to win her. She knew that she could not be his, and yet fell for his charms. After a night of making love so sweet she slept wrapped in his arms.

The morning light soon woke him and he saw an empty bed. He gripped the note she left in anguish. _She said we cannot be, but not the reason why. Is she married?! A nun?! A fugitive?!_ _I shouldn't have taken her to my bed so soon. Now she probably believes that's all I want from her, and I want so much more. I just have to prove my intentions are honorable. If I find her and she'll have me I'll need some extra money._

* * *

Tristan took a second job at the casino which he soon discovered was also a brothel. He'd just arrived at the bustling joint. Every slot machine, poker, roulette, and craps table was occupied. The sporadic clack of billiard balls was muffled by lively piano music and singing as beautiful scantily clad women performed on stage cabaret style. Other lovely ladies circled the game room with drinks atop silver trays, exchanging shots of liquor and frothy mugs of ale for reasonable prices. Tristan smiled as the women's pleasant voices and angelic laughter rang throughout the air.

He had to admit. _Brothel or not, this is a fun atmosphere to work in. The girls are so nice it barely seems like a job. And if this is what they choose to do, then who am I to judge them?_

Tristan made his way back to the door at the sound of the bell. There he found two very young boys.

"How old are you," Tristan sternly demanded.

"Eighteen," They lied unison.

"You beardless bastards aren't a day over fourteen and you know it."

The squint-eyed owner caught the door as Tristan was closing it, "You boys got money?"

They grinned eagerly nodding their heads, brandishing their cash. Tristan gasped as the owner told one of his waitresses, "Go get the man maker. She the only one who'll screw the young ones."

The courtesans and customers alike parted way as a very tall woman with snow-white skin and scarlet hair pulled back in a tight bun approached. This gorgeous but ferocious woman was known to have a temperament as fiery as her tresses. Icis, as they called her, gripped the whip attached to her very tight black leather pants suit.

Tristan, who'd caught a chill from her ice blue eyes, warned the boys, "This woman will beat the hell out of you."

The boys gaze up in awe of the leather clad goddess towering over them. The adolescent with the chubby cheeks replied, "I care not, as long as she beds us."

"I deliver more pleasure than pain," She promised with a cunning smirk. Without warning she brought the back of her right hand across the left side of the plump one's face. Before a yelp of pain escaped him she'd already struck the other boy. She snatched them both up by the back of their collars and drug them upstairs to her room.

Even the oh so serious Tristan couldn't help but chuckle a little. _I tried to warn them._ A hush fell over the crowd. You could've heard a needle hit the cranberry carpet.

The owner stood on stage and introduced his headliner, "Put you hands together for the Madam LeSoleil Levant."

The large velvet curtains opened to a roar of applause. Tristan's heart stopped. He drew no breath as his eyes rose to the stage. It was his beloved Isolde scantily clad, winding her body in red fabric that he sold. _My god she's a prostitute! She's little more than my age!_

She gasped seeing her beloved. Bolted from the stage.

"I own them all," The owner chimed. "These mixed race slaves belong to me. The best way to work a slave my boy! Wouldn't you agree?"

Tristan felt as if his heart had been crushed beneath the weight of such a heavy revelation. _All of these women are forced to be here!_ His fists clenched involuntarily. The boxer within yelling to be unleashed, but he refrained from striking his weasel face employer, "You are soulless."

The man laughed, "Ah... I hired a self-righteous one. You'll get use to things."

Tristan ran after Isolde and caught her arm. He pulled her to his chest, his eyes swimming in tears from utter disbelief and pain, "I thought the slaves just worked the fields: tobacco, cotton, sugar cane."

She shook her head at her naïve lover, soon to make him clever, "These people own us Tristan. They can make us do whatever." She cried upon his shoulder, yearning at that moment more than ever she had to be free, "It is because I am a quadroon slave that we can never be."

* * *

_Two Weeks Later_

The night was cold and as silent as a cemetary as First Lieutenant Leon of the U.S. Army stealthily searched his cousin's tailor shop. He stumbled across a worn leather-bound book; and after reading just one entry, Leon informed his worried aunt, "Tristan is in no trouble of any kind. We should leave."

She reached for the journal. Leon promptly denied her, "You don't want to read this entry."

"My son was a shell of himself when he came home for sunday dinner," She exclaimed in her heavy French accent. "I demand to know what plagues my Tristan!"

"A broken heart. Nothing more," Leon assured her but she snatched the journal against his advice and began reading the most recent entry.

Tristan's mother screamed in horror of what she'd read and made the sign of the cross. She dropped her son's journal as if it possessed evil in its purest form. She wished to burn it, but if she did Tristan would know that she'd been snooping and he would no longer trust her with the keys to his shop.

"Are you all right dear Aunt," Asked her nephew, who'd reluctantly accompanied her on this witch hunt.

"No I am not all right," The French woman snapped. "I come to Tristan's shop to see why my eldest boy has become so withdrawn and melancholy and I find out he is spreading the legs of whores and working in a brothel! Now you go to that unholy place and drag my son home with me to the country. I do not like the influence of city life on him at all."

"No mother wants to hear such things about her son, but the fact remains that Tristan is a man," Leon said, taking his aunt's hand to comfort her. "He's lived on his own and run his own establishment since he was fifteen. He's an adult and there is little by law that I can do."

"Why does Tristan choose to hurt me so," She cried dramatically, the back of her hand on her forehead as if she were going to faint at any moment. "Does he realize how horrible his choice of women and employment reflect upon me?! Why is he doing this to me?"

Leon bit his lip to keep from grimacing. _I love my Aunt but at times she can be so dramatic and self-absorbed. Tristan got his heart ripped out and all Aunt talks about is herself. I wouldn't have pried in Tristan's business but his mother wrote me with such urgency that I thought he was in danger. _

"Promise me you will at least try to persuade him," She said as she blew out the candles. They walked down the creaky stairs.

"I'll talk to him, but I make no promises," Leon offered as they met the cool night air.

They locked up Tristan's tailor shop, and Leon helped his aunt into the stagecoach. He signaled to the driver and the carriage clattered down the dark city road.

Leon untied his own horse, threw his foot in the stirrup, and flung his self onto the saddle. _On to the House of the Rising Sun…_

* * *

Tristan shuffled the protesting customers out the door. It had been just two weeks since he began working at the notorious brothel and casino, and he was convinced tonight would be his last. He was already burnt out on the unjust and depraved nature of the owner of this establishment, a weasel of a man named Master Alined; who forced women to sell the most intimate part of them. Of the twenty prostitutes at the _House of the Rising Sun _only four of them were wayward white girls who'd been disowned by their families, the rest were slaves.

Tristan shook his head and grit his teeth at the complaints of another obnoxious patron.

"Come on! I didn't get my full hour," Protested a flabby middle-aged man after being forced to leave his favorite courtesan's chamber.

Tristan shoved the man's shoes in his chest, "Either get out or I'll throw you out."

The man huffed, "Your boss runs a gambling hut and a whore house and he dares to close midnight every Saturday in order to have no one working on the Sabbath!"

"I don't make the rules. I just enforce them," Tristan pointed to the heavy mahogany door not at all in the mood for an argument with a philandering drunkard. "Go home to your wife Mr. O'Riely."

The prostitutes cheered and applauded as the final customer left. "Good riddance!"

Tristan chuckled a little. The only thing that ever brought a smile to his face were the amazing women who worked at the House of the Rising Sun. _I've met battle hardened warriors without a modicum the strength of these girls. How do they remain so high in spirits? _He locked up the place and took a seat behind the bar. It was his night to be on watch; which he did to make sure no one broke in after hours and hurt or kidnapped the girls. Tristan poured himself a shot of bourbon which overflowed and pooled around the small glass. He made a face as he drank the strong amber liquid which burned all the way down. He placed the glass aside and began drafting his resignation on a napkin.

* * *

The women gazed down from the second floor as a petite dark-skinned girl named Onyx enquired, "How old is that big strapping boy?"

"Seventeen," Isolde answered.

Icis approached in her signature black leather, "Seventeen you say? Mmm, just ripe for the picking. Ladies, it's time we played break in the new bouncer."

"Absolutely not," Isolde snapped.

Icis' pale cold blue eyes narrowed, "If we do not break him in he will get burnt out and leave us! Tristan is the son of a bare knuckle boxer. The boy has proven himself an accomplished fighter, and he's handy with a pistol too. We need his protection."

"I am hoping he quits!" Isolde protested. "Tristan's a good boy. He doesn't belong here."

The extremely beautiful but mean leather clad woman raised a neatly arched brow at Isolde, "Are you fucking him?"

"So what if I did, I've lain with many men."

"Ah yes, but that one you are screwing for free, and that clouds your judgment in this matter!"

"I am Madam of this establishment," Isolde reminded her. "You will show me some respect!"

Icis raised her hands in surrender, "Fine I won't lay a finger..."

"Or a whip," Isolde interjected.

Icis huffed, "I won't touch him if that is what you wish; for I am more than capable of defending myself. Men pay me to kick their asses. But what will you and the other girls do when the man in the mask returns?"

A cold dreary silence fell upon them. The watching girls shuddered at the very mention of the sadist who'd plagued their already unhappy existence. Onyx, the lovely dark one, teared up as she rubbed her dainty hand; which was now missing a pinky finger.

"Do you realize what you are asking me to do," Isolde's dark blue eyes began to water. "I love Tristan."

"Then keep him around Madam," Onyx spoke up. "Icis is right. Allow us to break him in before he quits."

"I'm sorry but I cannot," Tears escaped the prison of Isolde's long lashes and rolled down her tanned cheek as she fled to her massive chamber, the fanciest suite in the casino.

It was a blessing to be the one the very place was named after. This meant she only had to take men to bed a few times a year because almost no one could afford her. But now she found her monetary value to be a curse because Master Alined had refused to allow Tristan to buy her freedom. And her fame had attracted an obsessed and violent customer. The creepy feeling of being watched chilled her very soul. She promptly shut her curtains and threw herself on the bed. Weeping softly into her pillows, neither yearning to corrupt her beloved Tristan or endanger the women who had become close friends.

"Not this bouncer. Not ever," She decided.

_I will not sacrifice my Tristan's soul by convincing him to stay here, and yet we courtesans are defenseless without him._ _Master Alined is too cowardly to protect us. _A cold shiver rolled down her spine. Goosebumps rose on her skin. _When __this notorious masked villain returns will one of us be killed... _

* * *

He sharpened the long curved blade of his knife. The steel was cool, but it would soon be warm with blood. It seemed forever since his last hunt, forever since his hunger was satisfied. He packed a sturdy rope, smiled at thoughts of his last victim_. I still feel the heat of her blood, her supple breasts pressed beneath me as I took her. I'm taunted by the taste of her kiss, the last kiss she ever gave._ He licked his lips almost involuntarily. Visions of the dying girl put his mind in a frenzy and a knot in his pants._ Now it's time to take another, a sweet young thing just like the last. Killing her will be so easy. She's a slave, a nobody, the perfect victim..._

**I'm not sure if I should in good conscience continue a fic that takes place in a brothel. Please review and give your opinion. Thanx :^)**

**-Embrasia-**


	2. The Secret

The Secret

Tristan made his hourly rounds on the second floor one hand on his revolver the other on his cigar. He stealthily pushed open Icis' chamber door just enough to make sure she was alright. He grinned a little surprised to find the ice queen not sleeping in a coffin or a giant spider web. She was resting ever so angelically between plush covers cuddling a ragged teddy bear in her embrace. Tristan shook his head with wonder. _It astounds me how even the meanest of girls is still just a girl when the world isn't watching._

He checked on the next girl and then the next all resting beautifully. Tristan rustled his messy blonde hair and took another puff from his fine cigar, promising himself this would be his last smoke. This fine blend of tobacco was grown by means of slave labor on his mother and stepfather's plantation. It sickened him that the very shirt on his back was likely made from cotton picked by the abused and oppressed. Tristan had never condoned slavery and the events as of late only caused further hatred of the so called 'peculiar institution'.

He came to the last room, and stood before the elegant double doors of his beloved. He quietly opened them lingering a bit longer at Isolde's chamber than all the others. Her lovely mouth opened just slightly as she dreamed, her golden curls spilled out on the pillows. He gazed wistfully at the sound of his name moaned so gently from her lips and he moved on in order not to wake her allowing himself to live a bit longer in her dreams; if only in her dreams. Tristan ventured downstairs with a sigh. _I could tell Isolde wasn't all white, but there are plenty of free mixed race debutants in New Orléans. Why did I have to fall in love with the one who just happened to be a slave girl? _

He released a mist of acrid smoke into the air and checked his pocket watch. 4:35am dawn was soon to break and bring an end to his shift as well as his employment at the House of the Rising Sun; but would leaving bring an end to his pain? He doubted anything could.

xXx

Leon approached the enormous white two-story building. Its elegant pillars and wraparound porch made it appear a quaint country mansion rather than a house of ill repute. _Aunt Katrina believes I came to talk Tristan into quitting but I'm here to convince him to stay. If he truly loves this Isolde he should find a way to free her and make it work. I've never been much of a rule breaker and My wife is as straight an arrow as they come which is why everyone thinks Mithian and I are the perfect little married couple. People believe that we've never faced hardships when the truth is that Mithian was married to another when I first took her to bed. We must have fucked at least twenty times before I could call her my own. So I too know the heartache of having to share the woman you love, but if she's worth it you should fight for her. I had to free my beloved Mithian and that is what Cousin Tristan must do for Isolde._

Leon dismounted his horse and tied it to a post out front. He spun around, froze at the crunch of leaves. The snap of a twig soon followed. He looked up to see a dashing shadow. _It can only be a burglar this time of night. _Leon declared as he instinctively pulled his pistol. He went after the thief determined not to allow his cousin Tristan to be ambushed. Leon eased around the side of the mansion. He fell to the ground with a yelp as pain shot across his back. His gun flew out in front of him. He'd been struck forcefully with a fallen branch. He pushed himself off the ground only to be struck down before he could stand. Leon groaned in agony. Tried to crawl to his gun but his attacker kicked it into the bushes. Leon flipped over painfully. Met the cold emotionless eyes of a masked assailant. The monster lifted the branch high in the air to crack Leon's skull but caught a merciless boot to the growing instead. Leon leapt to his feet as the masked man stumbled backward and dropped the tree limb. Leon delivered a brutal uppercut and a right cross to his attackers face. The man caught Leon by the vest and slung him against the building, his chest crashing into the mansion wall. Leon's voice caught in his throat as brutal blows were delivered to his back devastating his kidneys and ribs. With an agonizing squeal Leon grabbed the villain's arm and slung him around into the window. The pane of glass shattered alerting Tristan and causing the ladies to leap from their beds. Leon gasped in utter shock as he ripped off the scoundrel's mask. Before Leon could ask how, why, the blast of gunfire rang in the air. As hot led pierced the monster's side he gripped his wound and fled.

"Cousin Leon," Tristan gasped, as smoking pistol in his grip. He rushed over. "What are you doing here?"

Leon's eyes were wide and distraught. His arm pointed in the direction of the thief but his gasping lips brought forth no sound. The girls screamed in horror as Leon slumped against the mansion and slid down to the ground.

"Cousin!" Tristan bellowed at the sight of the knife protruding from Leon's abdomen. "Stay with me Cousin!"

A frantic Tristan kneeled by his side as Leon fought to tell him something. The message never came across before Leon's body fell limp in Tristan's arms. The horrifying secret sealed with Leon's silent blue lips…

**Thanx for reading chapter 2 :^)**

**-Embrasia-**


	3. The Missing Link

The Missing Link

Isolde ran over as Tristan clutched the bleeding man, "Oh god is he alive?!"

"He's breathing but just barely! Beginning to turn blue! Prepare the covered wagon," Tristan ordered. "Dr. Gaius is staying as an honored guest in my family's home. I may still be able to get Leon to the physician in time."

Five girls took off at his words. Leon reached to pull out the blade that pierced his cousin's stomach.

Isolde grabbed Tristan's hand and told him, "Don't touch the blade. You may cause more harm than good. At times the embedded object helps to slow the flow of blood. Allow a trained hand to remove it."

Tristan nodded. Two girls ran up. The tall one passed Isolde a bottle of liquor and a pair of shears. The short one handed Tristan a stack of sterile bandages. Isolde cut off Leon's shirt; which was so heavy and saturated with blood. She poured liquor over his wound to cleanse it. Then Tristan helped her bandage his cousin's torso around the blade.

Little Onyx brought the wagon around.

"Keep him as flat as possible!" Isolde ordered. "We lift on the count of three. One… Two…"

With a mighty heave Tristan, Isolde, and the others lifted Leon's unconscious body. They laid him down flat in the back of the covered wagon.

Tristan reloaded his revolver and passed it to Icis, "I wounded the burglar. I don't believe he'll return but hold on to this just in case."

She nodded. Tristan climbed in the back of the covered wagon with Isolde and helped her tend to Leon. Onyx cracked the long black whip in the air. The horses broke into a trot. Icis and the crowd of young women watched in horror and concern for the brave stranger who, with the help of Tristan, had saved one of their lives. Icis cringed. _The man in the mask is no burglar. He's killed before and he'll do it again… _

* * *

_Katrina the Troll_

The sky was just starting to turn pink and orange from the breaking dawn as Gaius worked to save Leon's life. Tristan's younger siblings were still in bed at this hour and he was shocked his mother's screams had not woken them. Countess Katrina pulled her son into an empty parlor.

She screamed at Tristan, "I have had it with you! My nephew was harmed because you feel the need to protect a gaggle of soulless harlots! Two of which you brought to my home!"

"Must you be such a troll?!" Tristan countered. "Those women are not soulless. They helped me save Leon. And they were here for all of ten minutes before I sent them to retrieve U.S. Marshal Gwaine."

"Gwaine is a good kid but I will be requesting a more experienced officer for my nephew's case." Katrina huffed and shook her head with disappointment, "Why can't you be more like…"

"Your perfect nephew Leon?!" Tristan interjected having heard her be more like Leon speech upwards of a thousand times. His mother's blatant favoritism had often caused Tristan to resent his cousin throughout the years, something he felt guilt and shame for right now because Leon was truly a wonderful person.

Tristan bellowed, "As much as you'd like me to be, I'm not Leon! But I wish I were more like my older cousin because he would've never considered leaving a bunch of defenseless girls at the mercy of a mad man!"

A puzzled look fell over his mother's face, "You said this was a burglary gone wrong."

"Because that's what it appeared to be," Tristan shook his head. "There are strange things, details the heat of the moment had allowed me to dismiss. Like this." Tristan tossed the black and red intricately sewn mask to his mother and continued. "I'm no great detective or profiler like Gwaine, but there is one thing I know better than most and that's fabric. That mask is made from Egyptian leather. The material costs a fortune. Why on earth would a wealthy man need to rob a brothel?

"Perhaps the mask was stolen from someone wealthy," His mother suggested.

"If so, wouldn't a person hard up for cash keep such an expensive mask in pristine condition in order to sell it? Why would he steal a priceless artifact just to ruin the material with oils and sweat from his skin?" Tristan questioned. "I had drawn up my resignation but now I can't quit. Not until I catch this man. Not until I find out what he was after."

"This has gone on long enough! You've proved your point. It's time to pack your things and move back home." Countess Katrina insisted. "I've had my slaves prepare your old room. Cease your employment as a bouncer immediately and sell your worthless father's shop. I've arranged for you to meet with Lord Olaf's lovely niece, Lady Sophia. I doubt a woman of such high social standing will marry some tailor who whores around in brothels."

Tristan gasped at the utter gall of his mom, "Really mother?! My cousin, your nephew, was stabbed tonight and all you're concerned about is getting your claws on some rich girl's dowry! You are such a gold-digging troll."

"Tristan!" His stepfather bellowed as he entered the room. "You will not speak to your mother that way."

Tristan nodded respectfully, "Yes Sir."

The count turned to Katrina, "But the boy is right. Now is not the time for playing matchmaker."

Katrina huffed and crossed her arms. Tristan grinned pleased that his stepfather had taken his side in the matter. The door creaked. Everyone turned abruptly.

"How is he," Tristan called frantically as the gray haired doctor entered the room.

"Alive thanks to you," Gaius admitted. "That was a good call to leave the knife in. The edge of the blade was hooked and serrated at several points. It would have snagged his entrails. Had you yanked it out that would have disemboweled and killed Leon."

"Actually we have Isolde to thank for that," Tristan confessed. "I was this close to pulling it out when she stopped me."

Katrina fainted in her husband's arms as the overwhelming gravity of the ordeal finally sunk in. Her nephew, who she loved more than her own son, was nearly killed. He still might die.

The count laid her down on the lounge and asked, "Will Leon survive? When can we see him?"

Gaius informed the family, "Its touch and go right now. Leon isn't awake but you may visit with him as long as you are careful not to move him. I just got the bleeding to stop. Embracing him may pop his stitches and cause him to hemorrhage."

They nodded, "Thank you so much Gaius."

"God bless you."

The count stayed with his wife a moment while Tristan nearly trampled Gaius to get out the door. He hastily made his way down the corridor. Quietly entered the room where Leon lay fighting for his life. Tristan sat on the bed next to his cousin and took his hand. Leon's skin was cold and clammy, pale from blood loss; his light brown curls darkened and matted with perspiration.

A single glistening teardrop fell from Tristan's pale blue eye as he vowed, "U.S. Marshal Gwaine is going to help me find whoever did this to you and when we do god help the bastard."

* * *

_Uther's Fatal Mistake_

Vivian placed a sweet peck on Gwaine's lips that morning and climbed out of bed as naked as the day she was born. He watched the breathtaking beauty saunter across her chamber. A cascade of silky golden tresses danced over her bare back. Most girls would search for something with which to cover themselves before crossing a room naked in broad daylight but Vivian, second daughter of Lord Olaf, was bold and free. Her house servants had already prepared a fresh steaming bath for them. Rose petals graced the surface of the water just as Vivian liked it.

She slipped into the elegant footed tub, glanced back over her shoulder as Gwaine said, "Vivian, I proposed three weeks ago and you haven't giving me the slightest hint at an answer. Are you ever going to tell your father about us?"

"It isn't that simple," She replied as she rung the sponge over smooth curvy legs.

"Do you love me?"

"I love screwing you."

Gwaine laughed a little. "Biiiiiitch," He drug out the word to add emphasis.

"Yes but that is what you love about me," She reminded him.

He nodded, "You are right again milady."

Gwaine glanced at the poem Vivian wrote him with a smile. It literally took him a glance to read it. He was gifted in that way and could recall the contents of a document he'd seen ten years prior for less than ten seconds. His memory was photographic, but he was no good with numbers. Calculations were his best friend Tristan's area of expertise.

He climbed out of bed, and slipped into the warm pleasant smelling water behind her. She closed her eyes and nuzzled against his warm wet body as he took the sponge into his palm brought it to a lather gently rubbing it over her knee, the foamy bubbles sliding down her thigh as he followed their trail with his eyes.

He placed a soft wet kiss behind her ear, "I deserve an answer Vivian. I love you."

"And I you," Vivian vowed. "I swear you will have your answer. Just allow me a little more time and whatever you do don't go to my father."

"But that's the honorable thing to do," Gwaine protested. "I love and respect your father. Aunt Coleen and I wouldn't have had a pot to piss in without him. Lord Olaf saved us, and I will not continue to wrong him by bedding his daughter behind his back."

She squeezed his hand. "I've always loved your chivalry and devout sense of honor and loyalty but I implore you to trust me on this."

"As you wish milady," He brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed her tiny knuckles.

Vivian breathed a sigh of relief. _Thank God Gwaine will keep his mouth shut. My father is a total lunatic._

She pulled a hand mirror from the stand next to them and yelled as she examined her neck, "Damn you Gwaine! You bruised my neck with your kissing and suckling. How many times have I told you not to leave your mark on me?"

Gwaine laughed and mouthed her words as she said them. He had heard this rant before. She turned and put her back to the opposite end of the tub, facing her lover with a furious pout.

Gwaine replied with a charming smirk and a wink, "You weren't complaining last night when I put them there."

Vivian leaned forward and gave him a hard poke to the chest. "Just what am I supposed to tell my father when he returns from England this week?"

Gwaine shrugged. "I don't know. Tell him you fell."

"He'll never believe that," Vivian exclaimed.

Gwaine laughed. "It's not my fault you're clumsy."

Water splashed onto the floor as she gave him a playful shove.

"Your dad's gonna know we're doing it. Your dad's gonna know were doing it. Nah Nah Nah Nah Nah," Gwaine finished his rather juvenile song by sticking out his tongue at her.

Vivian giggled at his childish taunts, "You are such a child."

"Yes but that is what you love about me," He brushed a soft wet lock from her face and put a sweet kiss on her cheek.

She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck bracing him with a steamy passionate kiss. He placed her feet to each side of him, gripping her round bottom and pulling her onto his lap, her bare moist breasts pressed firmly against his hard manly chest as he licked sucked and caressed her sweet wonderful tongue with his own.

Their taunt bellies separated by his stone hard manhood, at last he came up for air and questioned breathlessly, "We are in a bathtub milady. Are you trying to get clean or dirty?"

Vivian smiled and bit her bottom lip with a naughty look and Gwaine moved in to take her mouth again. They both jumped as a bang on the door startled them.

"Uther Pendragon requires an audience with you U.S. Marshal Gwaine," Called his Aunt Coleen.

Gwaine could tell by the emphasis Coleen placed on his title that she was more than a little perturbed with him. He wasn't nephew or even Gwaine today. She'd addressed him as U.S. Marshal. Gwaine promptly abandoned his bath leaving a trail of watery footprints as he fumbled about for his clothes.

"Stay with me," Vivian protested as she rung out her long tresses, climbed out of the tub, and tied a robe around her.

"Uther may have a lead on my case," Gwaine explained as he buttoned up his shirt.

"The deceased, god rest her soul, was a poor mixed race slave. Do you honestly believe Uther gives a damn about your case," Vivian snapped. "And even if he does you should not have to work today. It's your 18th birthday."

Gwaine couldn't hide his happiness, "I didn't think you'd remember."

"So what if I remembered. It's no big deal," Vivian replied putting up her walls just as she always did when she sensed someone was getting too close.

She instinctively resorted to bitchiness and arrogance. Too bad for Vivian Gwaine had learned to see right through her; most of the time at least.

"I love you too Vivian," He grinned and kissed her lips before heading downstairs.

Vivian invited his aunt in to assist her with the long rigorous routine of dressing. Aunt Coleen slipped in shooting daggers at her nephew; the same disappointed glare she always had after seeing him in Vivian's chamber.

"I know it's wrong but I love her Aunt Coleen," Gwaine explained himself. "You look at me with such disdain as if I was a philandering whore of a man."

"I raised you better than this," His devoutly Catholic guardian replied in her thick Irish accent. "If you truly love milady you would respect her."

"Yes Auntie," Gwaine walked away feeling guilty, mainly for disappointing his dearest aunt. She'd been a mother to him and a wonderful one at that.

Gwaine had never been a pious good boy like Tristan or a straight-laced aristocrat who always followed orders like Arthur. In fact Gwaine had been arrested for being drunk and disorderly every St. Patrick's Day since the age of fourteen. He'd met his good friend Merlin after backing him up in a brawl at an Irish Pub; which turned into a full on melee that the two of them just narrowly escaped. Gwaine was known for being unruly and a bit of a delinquent, and yet he could not bear to let his aunt down.

He withered like a rose under Coleen's scrutiny and sighed as he walked downstairs. _In truth I never meant for any of this to happen which is why Vivian and I have only made love maybe four times. When we were just thirteen summers Vivian came to me a hysterical mess begging that I take her virginity. Of course I refused but she insisted that if I loved her I would do it. I loved her so much even then that I betrayed every instinct I had, took her out back, and rolled her in the hay. Afterward she was happy. Whatever horrible demon that plagued her soul was vanquished with my touch. She made me swear to never speak of that day again and I never did. We remained close friends and nothing more until I was appointed a U.S. Marshal just a month ago. We had a few drinks to celebrate and one thing led to another. After waking up hung over in her bed I realized there was no place in the world I'd rather be hung over. And though it was probably the least romantic gesture in the history of love, I proposed marriage and cared not that we were both half drunk and violently ill. I wouldn't have blamed her if she'd said no, but she gave me a much harsher answer. After crawling across the floor and heaving profusely into a chamber pot Vivian wiped her mouth, looked up at me, and slurred, "I'll think about it."_

Gwaine strode into the elegant parlor and bent low to kiss Morgana's hand, "Good afternoon milady."

"Good day to you as well," Morgana politely replied, but Gwaine could tell her voice was hoarse and cracked from crying.

Gwaine turned to Uther, "Is everything alright Magistrate Pendragon?

Without taking time to doddle Uther stated urgently, "Do you remember that case I told you to pass on to the property loss department?"

_Of course I remember that poor hapless girl. I continued to investigate her murder against your wishes, but haven't been able to identify her. The crime hadn't taken place in that field. Her body had been drug from a different location and dumped. None of the local plantation owners recognized her. _Gwaine gave Uther an oblivious look, "I'm sorry could you refresh my memory."

"The girl you discovered in the field."

"Oh what about her?"

Morgana gave Uther a furious look and spoke to Gwaine, "Now Uncle Uther gives a damn, because he made a fatal mistake. The victim turned out to be a wealthy white girl: Governor Godwin's precious daughter, Elena."

"Morgana," Uther shouted. "Please try to understand that I was between a rock and a hard place. To prosecute someone for the murder of a slave I'd have to declare slaves human. We'd lose our right to own them. We'd lose everything. Governor Godwin has always been a dear friend and an ally of mine. I might have recognized Elena if she were not so badly beaten and had not disguised herself as a pauper. I feel her loss more than you know."

Gwaine shook his head with a grit of his teeth. _Uther was too blinded by his own bigotry to recognize his dear friend's child, and now he has given the killer a one month head start. I'll have my work cut out for me. _"Why would a wealthy white girl, a governor's daughter, be working her own cotton fields, and why didn't her father report her missing?"

"Her father did not report her missing because he just returned from Italy." Uther explained. "As for why Elena chose to pick cotton, I haven't the slightest clue."

"I know why," Morgana wiped her tears with a gloved hand. "Elena had her heart set on joining a convent and devoting her life to god, but the mother superior turned her away due to countless other wealthy girls who just couldn't cut it as nuns. These other girls were spoiled, selfish, arrogant brats who'd only run to a convent to avoid their arranged marriages. So the mother superior told Elena that if she could prove her humility, show herself obedient and hardworking then they would invite her with open arms to study and take her vows."

Gwaine nodded, "So that's why she picked her own cotton, as a test of humility; and a man known for targeting women the law doesn't care about mistook her for a slave."

Morgana nodded with a sniffle and looked up at her uncle almost bitterly, "Magistrate Pendragon how long has this psychopath been savagely murdering Negro and Indian women with impunity?"

Uther put his head down and Gwaine nearly gasped at how such an arrogant, unapologetic, mountain of a man could be reduced to shame by the mere look of a woman.

"He's been killing for over a year," Uther confessed in a voice almost a mumble.

Morgana took a big slow breath to keep from overreacting, "Had you bothered to arrest and prosecute this animal for any one of those killings he would be rotting in a cage, and your goddaughter, my friend, would still be alive."

"He'd never struck a white woman until now," Uther said in his own defense.

"With all due respect Sir," Gwaine said. "If a villain has no problem killing black and red people, how long did you think it would take before he started killing white people?"

Uther snapped, "Until Elena's tragic death the most I would've been able to do is give the scoundrel a slap on the wrist and a fine! Who am I to change the laws of this land?"

"I thought you were the magistrate!" Morgana bellowed, her arms stiff and straight at her sides, her small fists clenched with fury.

"Morgana I hate when we are at odds with each other," Uther relented.

"Then you should not sleep, eat, or breathe until you find Elena's killer," Morgana growled.

A defeated Uther passed Gwaine a fragment of a broken gold chain and said, "I had my deputies search the tiny slave shack Elena had taken up in before she died. They found this. It appears to be some sort of jewelry, maybe part of a bracelet or necklace."

The chain slipped from Gwaine's hand. Morgana knelt at once to retrieve it. A look of complete horror fell over her lovely face, followed by a sudden blood curdling scream. Morgana cast the cursed chain to the ground. She fled from the room. Burst from the mansion.

"Morgana!"

"Milady!"

Both men ran outside after her.

"I'm sorry," Morgana cried as Uther wrapped her in a comforting embrace.

"Shhh… It's alright," Uther spoke softly into her lovely black tresses. "It's been a trying day for you. We're going home now."

"Before you do may I speak in private with milady for just a few moments," Gwaine pleaded.

"Absolutely not. She's been through enough," Uther answered.

"It's alright," Morgana insisted. "If I can help, I want to help."

Uther nodded, "Alright but just as long as she wants to talk. There will be no interrogating my niece."

"Yes Sir," Gwaine walked away with her.

"I have just a few questions milady but it is imperative that you answer them honestly," Gwaine whispered. "I first need to rule out other possibilities. Women are usually harmed by men they know. Did Elena have any enemies?"

"No."

"How was her relationship with her father?"

"He adored her."

"What about lovers?"

Morgana laughed through her tears, "Elena had a wonderful personality and a great sense of humor but she never had luck with boys. She was the most clumsy ungraceful aristocrat most have ever laid eyes upon. She was at one point arranged to marry my cousin Arthur. On the day her father presented her she fell right on her face. Arthur found her kind but not to his liking so they didn't marry; which made Elena abundantly happy because she yearned to be a nun anyhow. Will that be all?"

"Just one more thing," Gwaine said. "What frightened you in the house?"

Morgana took a deep breath and backed away slowly cautiously. _I've been different my whole life, cursed with prophetic nightmares and frightening visions. That golden chain belonged to a killer. Elena snatched it broke it while fighting off a masked attacker. But Uncle Uther considers prophecy too closely related to magic and witchcraft. He'd burn me at the stake._

"Have you seen this jewelry before," Gwaine insisted.

Morgana stared back and forth between Gwaine and her uncle who was waiting for her by the stagecoach. _If they don't believe me I'll be sentenced to life in the loony bin. If they do believe me I'll be sentenced to death._

"Milady!"

"That's enough!" Uther yelled at Gwaine and took Morgana's hand. "Good day U.S. Marshal."

* * *

_A Peculiar Payment_

"I came as quickly as I heard," Gwaine swore as he entered the Count's office. "Tristan informed me his mother was in a bad way and it would be better to speak with you."

Tristan's stepfather was born of noble blood, and as striking as he was wealthy. The nobleman nodded and beckoned Gwaine in, "Please have a seat."

"I know Tristan didn't spend a great deal of time with his cousin so if you can help me by answering a few questions," Gwaine said.

"I'll help in any way I can," The count assured him.

"Leon is from way up north," Gwaine observed. "What brought him here?"

"Katrina was worried about Tristan. She figured Tristan might be in some sort of trouble. If so he'd be more inclined to open up to his cousin than his parents," the nobleman explained.

Gwaine nodded, "As far as you know did anyone have cause to harm Leon?"

"Not to my knowledge," The count admitted running a hand through his shoulder length black hair. "Tristan had mentioned the attacker might have been a mute. The assailant never cried out once during the scuffle, even after my stepson shot him. That should narrow it down a bit."

"Even a mute would've squawked something incoherent when shot," Gwaine replied. "This man could speak. He was just careful not to."

"Why?"

"Because we know him," Gwaine said, his blood turning to ice at the dreadful revelation. "He knew his voice would give him away."

The count glanced up amazed by the young marshal's intuitiveness, "Tristan was right. You are certainly the right man for the job."

The count peered at his glimmering pocket watch, "I'm running late for a meeting with the Governor. The poor man lost his daughter. I figured I'd offer my condolences in person."

"I understand," Gwaine assured as he rose from his seat. "Nice watch by the way."

"Why thank you. It's an antique, mid 17th century," the nobleman informed him. "I believe the origin to be Italian. I happen to be a collector."

Gwaine admired the extravagant watch, "It does boggle my mind as to why you, a collector, would put a brand new chain on such a beautiful old timepiece. I would think you'd yearn to keep the whole thing original."

"I had no choice but to replace the chain," The count explained.

"And why is that," Asked Gwaine.

The nobleman smirked, "Unfortunately the original chain broke. 17th century gold was much purer, but less strong as a result of not adding harder metals. What manner of payment is in order for your services U.S. Marshal?"

"I merely ask for the broken watch chain as compensation," Gwaine said.

"That's odd," The count replied. "If it were reparable I'd have it on my timepiece."

Gwaine grinned, "Reparable or not it's still made from 17th century gold. It has to be worth something."

The count laughed and riffled through the drawer for the broken chain, "Gwaine you are a strange one. Here take it if you insist and good day to you U.S. Marshal."

Gwaine graciously accepted the peculiar payment with a respectful nod, "Good day to you as well Count Cenred.

* * *

As Gwaine's stagecoach rumbled down the dirt road he pulled out the two chain fragments Count Cenred had given him as well as the one Uther attained from the cabin of the dead girl. He carefully laid out Cenred's two pieces leaving a three inch gap between them. Then he reached for the one from the crime scene. _Please don't fit. Please don't fit. _His palms were sweating, hands shaking as he brought the fragment closer beads of perspiration emerged on his forehead. It was a perfect match.

"DAMN!" Gwaine cried out as the agonizing feelings of total betrayal and disbelief crushed his soul. _It can't be! This doesn't make sense! I've known Count Cenred most of my life. Though they don't always get along, the count is the only father Tristan has. Tristan would never forgive me if I arrest Cenred, but what choice have I?! _Gwaine's heart pounded, threatening to break out of his chest. His mind swam in confusion and regret; hoping, praying, it was all some horrible nightmare he'd wake up from. He clutched the shattered chain in anguish and denial wishing he'd never found the _Missing Link_…

Thanx for reading Chapter 3 *smiles*

-Embrasia-


	4. The Pendragon Estate

The Pendragon Estate

"You're just going to let him go!" Gwaine bellowed as Uther unlocked Cenred's cell.  
"I haven't any choice," Uther snapped. "He has diplomatic immunity! I can't believe you arrested the French Ambassador! You've truly put my ass in a sling with this stunt Gwaine."

Cenred shrugged charismatically, "Worry not Magistrate Pendragon. Gwaine grew up with my son Tristan. So I won't report this little incident to the French Government… this time."

Uther breathed a sigh of relief, "A thousand apologies Count Cenred."

Gwaine stood fuming refusing to apologize for arresting a very probable serial killer, "Magistrate Pendragon the fact remains that a piece of Count Cenred's watch was found at the scene of the crime, and not only that. After taking the watch to a jeweler for careful examination I discovered the initials **A **and **M **had been buffed out of the gold. Those just happen to be the initials of Tristan's birth father Antonio; who was murdered two years ago. We never found the killer and Tristan never found his family heirloom: a priceless Italian timepiece that had been passed down for generations and generations."

"I know where this is going," Cenred spoke up. "It's no secret that I despised my wife's ex lover but I didn't kill him and take his watch!"

Uther turned to Gwaine. "There is no proof Antonio was murdered. The man participated in illegal boxing matches and turned up beaten to death. More than likely he took one blow too many while he was gambling with his life. Your accusations have no basis U.S. Marshal! Now I've had enough of you smearing this great man of nobility! Apologize to Count Cenred or I'll have your badge!"

"I get what's happening here!" Gwaine snapped at Uther. "This isn't just about diplomatic immunity! It's about rich and poor. The haves and the have nots. Count Cenred was born to wealth and privilege; so in your opinion he's a great man beyond reproach. But Antonio was merely a poor Italian immigrant which made him garbage in your eyes. You didn't even look into his death. Did you?"

Cenred could see Uther's blood boiling and assured the magistrate, "Give me a moment to talk to the boy." A furious Uther nodded. Cenred approached Gwaine and said. "You know me Gwaine. You know I didn't do this. And though I can't be arrested for these crimes, they can still ruin my reputation and destroy my life here! Now someone is setting me up. Find him."

Gwaine shook his head not knowing what to believe, "I'll only ask you once more, and I want the truth this time. If you're not honest with me I can't help you. If you didn't murder Antonio then where did you get his watch?"

Cenred looked down at the floor and confessed, "Alright I'll level with you. I didn't purchase the timepiece from an antiques dealer years ago. I bought it off a street peddler maybe a month ago."

Gwaine let out a long deep breath, "You knew it was most likely stolen. Is that why you lied?"

Cenred nodded, "The chain was broken so I got a priceless treasure for next to nothing. I am obsessed with antique watches. Stolen or not, I couldn't pass up such a good bargain. I can only assume the chain broke when it was stolen from its original owner."

"No, it broke during the rape and murder of the governor's daughter," Gwaine said. "Which just happened to occur a month ago around the time you purchased the watch. Now I'll need to know what the street vender looked like. Because either you are a killer Count Cenred, or you bought your timepiece from one."

"He was young, a teenager, dark hair, blue or green eyes," Cenred explained. "Am I free to go now?"

Gwaine said, "Just one more thing. Tristan shot the man who stabbed Leon. Would you mind taking off your shirt?"

"Fine," Cenred snapped with a roll of his eyes. He unbuttoned his black vest and then loosened his neatly folded ascot. He unbuttoned the white shirt beneath the vest and peeled off both layers at the same time. Cenred turned around slowly brandishing a well sculpted torso without so much as a scrape to hamper his perfection.

Gwaine breathed a sigh of relief, "My apologies Count Cenred. But I still must request that your nephew be moved until I figure out who tried to kill him. If he recognized his assailant the killer could return to finish the job."

"You are not moving my nephew," Cenred growled. "That's absolutely out of the question."

"Actually we are moving him," Uther informed the count. "Diplomatic immunity only prevents you from being charged with a crime. It does not prevent us from protecting a victim. Now Lieutenant Leon will be safe at the Pendragon estate. My son Arthur will see to this."

* * *

_The Pendragon Estate_

Arthur Pendragon loved the sunny days, because it was then that he could see her, a brown skinned beauty whom his friend and employee, Lancelot, had called Gwen. Arthur had gone out on his balcony one morning and seen his overseer chatting with a slave girl who encompassed the grace and elegance of a princess. Arthur enquired as to this magnificent woman's name even if he'd never be able to speak it and Lancelot told him:_ Guinevere_.

Arthur lifted the telescope in front of the lovely floor length window of his vast chamber. He could see all the way to the slave quarters, were she sat upon the dock dipping her aching feet into the cool dazzling waters of the pond, wringing her cool wet handkerchief over her beautiful neck and shoulder, the waters trickling over her collar bone soaking her lovely bosom, her nipples perking beneath the thin cloth of her dress.

"Stalker!"

Arthur whipped around to find Lancelot teasing him.

Arthur stammer, "I… Um I… was just…"

"Stalking my friend," Lancelot chuckled. "Why don't you just talk to her?"

"And say what exactly," Arthur huffed. "Hello Guinevere. I'm your owner and the bane of your existence. I'm also engaged to be married in a month's time. Would you like to have dinner sometime?"

Lancelot chuckled and took away Arthur's telescope, "Anything would be better than this. And would it kill you to work your own fields for just a week? That would give you an opportunity to meet Gwen and you can see firsthand the cruelty Percival and I complain about. You could change things Arthur."

"What message would that send if I undermine my own overseers? I have to trust them Lancelot, as I trust you and Percival." Arthur said.

Lancelot shook his head with a sigh, "Your other overseers are not like Percival and I. And what of Gwen? Do you care not for her?"

"I don't even know her and yet I feel as if I do. What's wrong with me?" Arthur had a laugh at himself. "My fiancée is an incredible woman and I care deeply for her; and yet this slave girl, this Guinevere calls to my soul."

"Gwen is quite beautiful," Lancelot admitted.

"But its more than that," Arthur confessed. "We've never spoken and I long to hear her voice." Arthur gave himself a mental slap. "I'm sure it's just wedding jitters."  
"Of course," Lancelot said noncommittally. "My shift is soon to start at the gallery. I better be on my way."

"Give my regards to the lovely Rose," Arthur said. "Will I ever get to meet this mystery girl?"

"If I play my cards right she just may be my date for your cousin's coming out party," Lancelot grinned but his smile soon faded. "Most men would be happy with a purely sexual relationship, and I was in the beginning but I love her Arthur. I need more than this. What's wrong with me?"

Arthur looked around to make sure no one on earth could hear him before confessing in a whisper, "The only girl I've ever been with is my fiancée, and that only happened once. I would never ruin a woman I didn't intend to keep. If you love this Rose then marry her."

Lancelot was entirely put off by Arthur's words. Arthur had always been a spoiled prat who soaked up the attention of women with sponge like consistency. Arthur was such an arrogant insufferable flirt that Lancelot, Percival and everyone else who knew him would've sworn he was an indiscriminant bed hopper, a philandering jerk if ever they'd met one; but that was not the case. Arthur was actually… _Chivalrous. _

A stunned Lancelot replied, "I have nothing to offer Rose. She won't have me."

"How do you know unless you try?"

"You're right Arthur."

As Lancelot left, Arthur waived his slave butler in, an older gentleman in his late thirties with dark brown skin named Aglain.

Aglain informed Arthur, "Your father has given you the charge of guarding Lt. Leon of the US Army. His wife was visiting relatives in Baton Rouge when the stabbing occurred. Madam Mithian is on her way here."

Arthur nodded, "Have the maids begin preparations for her. Give her the best chamber available."

"Yes Sir," Aglain nodded. "Also young Master Pendragon, may I trouble you for just an hour to visit my wife in the infirmary? She is unwell."

"Of course," Arthur assured him. "After you instruct the maids take the rest of the day off."

Aglain exhaled with relief, "Thank you, thank you Sir."

* * *

_The Infirmary_

The pregnant girl couldn't have been more than seventeen and she'd nearly lost her life today. Mary, as she was called, had been toiling in the fields when the bleeding started. She had a condition Dr. Merlin Emrys called placenta previa, a condition that would surely claim her life and that of her unborn child if she didn't remain on bed rest. But against doctors orders a large burly brute of an overseer named Brenner continued to send the girl back to the fields. Brenner, like most overseers, was more concerned with making his quota than preserving human life. Merlin had informed Uther about the girl's condition but the Magistrate cared not about his slaves. Merlin hadn't met the young Pendragon, but Lancelot and Percival had pleaded with Arthur on numerous occasions to change things. If Arthur refused to listen to his friends then why would he listen to Merlin? Dr. Emrys sighed as he finished with his patient. _Gaius believes Arthur will save the people but he has to be mistaken. The Arthur I work for is an idiot, a complete and utter dollop head._

Gwen dabbed the girl's forehead with a cool cloth and assured her, "It shouldn't be much longer now. Your baby should be here within the month."

Gwen rose at the sound of the horn blow, "Breaks over I must get back to the field, but I'll return to check on you later."

"Thank you princess," Mary said meekly.

"I am nothing of the sort," Gwen smiled modestly.

"You are that and more," Merlin assured the former island princess with a warm smile. "Thank you for helping me get the bleeding under control."

Gwen nodded with a pleasant smile and ventured back to the cotton field.

"I owe you my life Dr. Emrys," Mary swore. "Thanks for everything you've done for me."

"It was nothing milady," Merlin rose from her bedside at the knock on the door.

"You may enter," Merlin called and Aglain appeared in the doorway. Aglain almost ran across the room to embrace his wife.

"I'm fine and the baby is fine," She assured her worried husband. Aglain gave Merlin a nod of sincere appreciation and then kissed his wife's belly. She placed her lips upon his shaved head.

"I'll give you two a moment," Merlin grabbed his brown waist coat and left the love birds to catch up.

On the way back to the field Gwen ran into a large handsome overseer, one of the few who was decent and down to earth

Percival smirked at her, "Most people take a break on their break and you assist the doctor in the infirmary."

"Is there a point Sir," Gwen asked coyly.

"Admit it. You like him," Percival pushed.

Gwen laughed a little, "Fine if you must know, I have a tiny crush on Dr. Emrys. The man saved my life once. He's kind and decent, not at all like those Pendragons."

Percival stopped at the point their trail branched, "You've never even met Arthur."

"And I never want to either," Gwen said and bid farewell to Percival as they parted ways.

* * *

_The Gallery_

Lancelot sat in the back room of the art museum after locking it up for his lunch hour. This heavenly place barely felt like a job. He got to educate visitors about the incredible history of the paintings and sculptures on display and during closing hours the owner allowed him to use the back room to create masterpieces of his own. He quickly set up his easel and grabbed a hand full of pencils, happy to be away from his day job as an overseer on the Pendragon's Plantation.

Lancelot had never been nervous about his artistic ability until now. This drawing had to be perfect, but how could he create anything as beautiful as his remarkable young lover. _I can't believe she is allowing me to capture her beauty in this portrait, especially when we have more of an arrangement than a relationship. We meet at the art museum the same day and time every week, no names and no regrets. This is why I call her Rose until she will trust me with her name._

"Where do you want me?" Rose asked holding a sheet around her naked body.

Lancelot instructed as he readied his art supplies, "On the platform close to the window, where the lighting is best."

Lancelot finished arranging all his pencils, erasers, and charcoal. He heard a soft whoosh as her sheet slipped to the floor. He glanced over with a charming smile and a sparkle in his piercing dark eyes as she lay in all her magnificent glory upon the large plush pillows.

_Down boy_. Lancelot scolded himself as he shifted uncomfortably on his stool. He ventured over and covered her bottom half with the sheet.

He returned to his stool and sat in front of his easel, "Um… I think I'll just do the first sketch from the waist up. That should allow me some time to get use to this."

She smiled and teased, "Do you not draw nude figures all the time?"

"I do but I usually haven't slept with the model," She snickered and Lancelot began to draw her.

"Hold still," He instructed as he put line after delicate line on the paper.

He'd step back from time to time to look at the portrait, and then make a few more adjustments. Lancelot lightened and shaded the picture until her image began to emerge. At the end of the first drawing he approached her, towering over the petite British woman. He looked down at her, gave her a coy smile as he slipped off her sheet and brushed her soft straw colored tresses behind her back. She shivered at his gentle caress, her almond colored eyes dazzling with happiness.

"I want to draw your lovely shoulders," He explained, giving her bare shoulder an affectionate kiss.

He studied the warm cinnamon of her eyes, the cute pout of her lips. She was truly a work of art, a God sent masterpiece.

He grinned and bit his lip, "You Mademoiselle are making it very hard…"

"Am I?" She questioned with intrigue.

"In more ways than one," He confessed placing a sweet peck upon her lips

He returned to his easel and perched upon his stool. He took up his charcoal clearing the erotic thoughts of her from his head. He sighed wistfully as he began a new portrait. _I know this was never supposed to get serious, but it feels so natural holding Rose in my arms, like she was meant to be there. She's smart and talented, born to privilege but not spoiled and selfish. Most rich girls expect for everything to be given to them without a second thought of anyone else, but not Rose. _

"It's finished Rose," Lancelot called as he completed the full nude drawing of her.

She robed herself and saunter over gracefully, marveling at the portraits, "You're so very talented. It's a remarkable likeness. You're a hell of an artist."

"Merci," He modestly thanked her for the complements.

"Though I love your affectionate pet name for me I must enquire, why do you call me Rose," She questioned.

He pulled a thorny red rose from the bouquet he'd brought her and caressed her cheek with its petals. She closed her eyes for a brief moment allowing its cool, smooth texture upon her skin. At last she opened her eyes and backed away. She wasn't supposed to fall in love with him. Her father would never approve of a courtship with a poor boy.

He smiled at her and said, "Behold the stunning red rose. Can you think of anything so lovely and yet so difficult to get close to? The very touch of it may cause me pain and yet I can't help myself. For it enchants me, beguiles me to take it for my own." He embraced her from behind and whispered in her ear. "I will risk being hurt again and again just to hold it, take in its sweet fragrance, and gaze upon its beauty."

Lancelot handed the rose to her and freed her of his embrace. That's when she noticed the shimmering object tucked between its satiny petals: a ring.

She was breathless, speechless, tears filled her big brown eyes, "You do not know my name and you would ask that I take yours?"

"Your name matters not," He caressed her cheek, "I know your heart. Do you want to know why I named you Rose? Because that by any other name…"

"Would smell as sweet," She finished his sentence, a tear trickling down her cheek. _How does a poor boy quote Shakespeare like this? They wouldn't have taught that in an orphanage._ She was amazed by this peculiar commoner's vast knowledge of European Literature and the arts. He was so well versed and well educated. Trained in proper etiquette, if she didn't know better she might have sworn he was an aristocrat.

"Marry me Rose," He implored her. "Do not rush to a decision. Meet me at Morgana Pendragon's coming out party and give me your answer then. I know I'm likely to hear no, but I would regret it for the rest of my life if I didn't at least try."

She wiped her tears unable to tell him yes but her heart rendered her incapable of telling him no. "I'll consider it." She said placing the rose and ring upon the wooden stool.

He grinned and swept her up in his arms, their lips meeting in a passionate kiss as he carried her to pillows…

A while later her stagecoach bounced down the brick road. She had come to the gallery with the intention of breaking up with her lover, but ended up in the sack with him as always, moaning professions of love as he took her with passion and wanton need. Lost in lust and pleasure she spoke her heart rather than her mind and found herself unable to let him go.

Now she gazed out the window of her stagecoach wiping her tears after another failed attempt to end things. Their time was over. It would be a long unbearable week until she could see her artist again; the wonderful man who'd etched his face upon her heart. _Why?! Why did I tell him I'd even consider his proposal?! I'm marrying Arthur Pendragon in a little over a month. Arthur is a good man. I care for him deeply and yet this artist calls to my soul. _

A cold chill swept over her as a frightening thought crossed her mind. _How did a poor overseer merit an invitation to Morgana's coming out party? I pray he doesn't know Arthur._

Morgause pulled Arthur's engagement ring from her purse and slipped it back on her finger. _I must end things with this artist. Arthur deserves my loyalty. I can't go on living two lives…_

* * *

_The Shadow_

Night had fallen upon the glorious Pendragon Estate as Arthur ventured down the lofty corridor. He stopped before Leon's chamber and pushed the door open. Arthur froze. Reached for his pistol at the vision of a cloaked intruder in the darkness leering over Leon's unconscious body gripping a shiny metalic object…


	5. Defense Mechanism

Defense Mechanism

Before Arthur could get a round off he saw two demon eyes glowing in the darkness. A gloved hand rose. A blue beam shot from it. A blast of magic caught Arthur square in the chest. He flew backward. Hit the floor hard. Slid down the corridor on his back. A delirious Arthur raised his arm firing off all six rounds, before he collapsed once more. As Arthur slipped into the black the last thing he heard was the muffled crash of the fleeing sorcerer bursting through the closed window. The blood running from Arthur's ears as the figure fled the courtyard and melted into the shadows…

xXx

_Across Town_

Gwaine stood on the street corner that chilly night just outside of the fanciest restaurant in town. He nodded politely to Aristocratic couples and families as they walked inside but very few acknowledged his presence. The women floated by in their fancy jewels and fine silk dresses, their beaus decked out in expensive tuxedos with dazzling cufflinks. Gwaine had always been captivated by cufflinks, obsessed with them for as long as he could remember. He would spend forever in jewelry stores admiring each beautiful and unique pair.

Gwaine blew warm breath into his palms and then clasped them together, stepping from side to side in order to keep his blood pumping while he waited for her to meet him. He would've been warmer if he'd worn a jacket but he didn't own one nice enough to wear to this place. He was determined to look good for Vivian tonight even if that meant he had to freeze. Gwaine grinned at the thought of his beloved. _I can't believe Vivian and I may be getting married, especially considering how we started out…_

xXx

_Defense Mechanism_

Thirteen years ago at the docks of Louisiana the morning was cold, bleak, and gray. A heavy blanket of fog had fallen upon New Orleans' bustling port. The thick white atmosphere rose from the murky waters like steam off a pot of stew. Madam Coleen Annis stepped off the ship from Ireland and pushed her tired body onward. She could barely see more than ten feet in front of her due to the mist. She staggered in as straight a line as possible to keep from bumping into by-passers. Damn near delirious from hunger and exhaustion she could barely hold herself up; but she had to maintain, had to for him. She looked down at the child who's tiny hand she clutched. He was scrawny from malnutrition; dark rings encircled his large chestnut eyes. She removed her tattered moth eaten shawl and wrapped it around her shivering nephew; a boy of merely five summers, who her wayward sister had named Gwaine before running away from home and abandoning them both. But to Madam Annis, Gwaine was so much more than the bastard son of her unruly sister. He was the very heart of his aunt. At a mere seventeen summers Coleen Annis was little more than a child herself but she possessed a wisdom and elegance far beyond her years. She was determined to raise Gwaine the best she could, give him every opportunity possible; for he was destined for greatness.

A shiny black and red spider caught Gwaine's eye. He leaned forward to take a closer look. The arachnid stopped and turned toward Gwaine almost giving him an indignant look. If the disgruntled insect had eyebrows they would've furrowed.

Madam Annis pulled Gwaine back and warned, "If you get too close it will bite my dear."

"But why," Gwaine asked, his brown eyes wide with wonder.

"Because the spider is afraid you will hurt it," She explained. "And that fear will make the creature defend itself. Most living things have a defense mechanism of some sort."

Gwaine jumped at the loud whistle of the enormous river boat, its great paddle propelling it forward. He tuned out the scattered conversations and smiled at this amazing mechanical wonder. It glided over the waters without a single sail. He was positively mesmerized.

"Aunt Coleen! Aunt Coleen," Gwaine pointed to the peculiar boat.

"We've got no money now, but I promise to take you one of these days," She smiled and he nodded; both of them already liking New Orleans.

Madam Annis and Gwaine joined a group of other immigrants; their spindly arms holding up will work for food signs. Somewhere between the potato plight which nearly starved them to death and widespread political oppression the Irish were starting to flee their beautiful homeland. America promised a new beginning, offered work on the mighty railroads. Even free land was offered in the west to those who were willing to settle it. The Statue of Liberty herself was rumored to have etched upon her; _Give us your poor, your tired, your hungry. _And so it was upon the docks of New Orleans that Gwaine and his dear aunt sought to begin anew.

Young Gwaine paused as a man so regal and stately emerged from the fog like a king of old. But what stood out most about this man was not his fancy stagecoach. After all one must travel, so why not do it in style? It wasn't even his beautiful English style watch. One must be able to keep track of time, so why not purchase the best timepiece money can buy? What stood out to Gwaine above all else were the gentleman's extravagant cufflinks. They must have cost a fortune. How much money would one have to have in order to afford such treasures that serve no other purpose than closing his shirt sleeves? A man like that could certainly provide his loved ones with their hearts every desire. And at that point Gwaine decided the kind of man he yearned to be: a provider.

The stately gentleman stood with his two beautiful daughters, their lovely golden tresses pinned up in elegant dos. They picked up the skirts of their extravagant gowns and curtsied ceremoniously as they were surrounded by the local press. The royal family came off as friendly and humble; charming the interviewers with polite responses and witty banter. The father soon left his well trained daughters to handle the media while he scanned the dirty unkept faces of the Irish immigrants. These destitute travelers knew a man as well dressed as he must have loads of work for them and decent quarters for his servant's to live in. They all shouted their work skills as he walked among them.

"I'm a tailor!"

"I'm a cook!"

"I'm a blacksmith!"

"I can sharecrop!"

Soon the royal gentleman paused at the sight of a lovely young woman, with the regal presence of a queen. This puzzled him. _She appears as destitute as the others. Why is she not clambering for my attention along with the rest?_

She possessed porcelain skin and a thin trail of freckles across a tiny nose that looked like an arrow pointing upward. Her wild amber hair bore the appearance of fire as it danced in the cold breeze. She was quite beautiful yet it was not her appearance that drew him in with the force of a twister. It was her demeanor; confident, almost noble. Unlike the others Madam Annis maintained her elegant poise as the wealthiest man she'd ever seen stopped right before her. She looked him square in the eye as if she were his equal.

"Mademoiselle, I'm Lord Olaf, ambassador of England," He said in a proper British accent.

"Madam; I implore thee kind Sir," She politely corrected him. "If only for a brief time I was married to a wonderful man; the love of my life Caerleon."

"Then Madam it is," Olaf grinned a little taken back that a woman so far below his station would see fit to correct him. "My youngest daughter's maid took off and the governess resigned just recently. I need quite a bit of help around the house."

Madam Annis nodded confidently before he could finish the question. Her aquamarine eyes lit right up. Her chapped and broken lips parted in a smile as she spoke with a heavy Irish accent, "Absolutely milord. I can cook, clean, sew. You will not regret your decision."

The handsome older gentleman removed his cloak and used it to wrap her shoulders in the finest fabric she'd ever felt upon her skin. The cloak was so warm from his body, and scented heavily with expensive cologne. She closed her eyes for just a moment to breathe him in, feeling as if she was in heaven.

"This is my nephew Gwaine," She said pulling in front of her the child who was hiding behind her skirt, vehemently shaking his head no.

She scolded Gwaine softly, "You're being rude now lad. Say hello to Lord Olaf."

After what seemed an eternity of awkward silence Gwaine's petrified lips finally moved to whisper two words, "He's British."

Madam Annis gasped, "Gwaine!"

"It's alright," Lord Olaf assured her as Gwaine took a step back clinging to his Aunts legs. "Is it the accent that frightens you young man?"

Gwaine nodded without words and Lord Olaf said, "You are going to come and live with me and you will not be afraid. You know why?"

Gwaine shook his head no. Lord Olaf took a knee and pulled a tiny wooden star from his pocket. He pinned the toy badge to Gwaine's tattered vest.

Lord Olaf, now eye level with the child, pointed in the direction of his daughters, "You see those girls over there. Morgause is seven and Vivian is five."

"They're beautiful like angels," Gwaine grinned, a couple of his baby teeth missing.

"You are now my U.S. marshal," Olaf smiled. "Your sworn duty will be to protect my daughters with your life and you cannot defend them if you are scared."

"I'm not afraid Mr. Olaf," Gwaine puffed up his bony chest proudly accepting his duties as an officer.

"Then shall we carry on brave U.S. Marshal Gwaine," Olaf rose and extended a hand to his brave little body guard.

Gwaine took his hand and eagerly left with him to meet the girls he was sworn to protect. Madam Annis nearly cried from happiness as she followed them to the stagecoach. Not much ever shook her steady countenance; but the future happiness and security of a beloved nephew was enough to bring tears to her eyes. After they climbed in Gwaine noticed the joyful expressions of the girls faded. Vivian's face was twisted into a scowl as if she'd tasted something bad while Morgause displayed no emotion what so ever. They barely looked like the same angels who were charming the reporters. The masks had come off. As the stagecoach bounced down the gravel road Lord Olaf made a few quick introductions.

Vivian looked Madam Annis up and down with her signature lemon sucking scowl and scoffed, "I don't want her father. I don't need a maid."

Olaf chuckled, "Worry not my dear. You'll want for nothing. Madam Annis is the best in America."

"Then I feel sorry for America," Vivian snarled.

The following day Gwaine ran as fast as he could while Vivian launched rotten apples at him. He was struck. It felt like a punch to the back of the head. "Owe!" He cried as another hit him in the middle of the back. He tripped over a tree root, lost his footing, went tumbling to the ground.

"How dare you!?" She exclaimed as she continued to pelt him with hard apples.

"You started it!" Gwaine screamed as he shielded himself with his forearms.

Madam Annis came running from the shed. She grabbed the small girl, "Lady Vivian! Has the devil gotten into ya lass?!"

Vivian still heaving from her run pointed a finger at Gwaine, "He… soiled my bed… with dirt and beetle bugs!"

Madam Annis pulled a bruised up Gwaine off the ground, "Is this true?"

"She insulted you Auntie Colleen," Gwaine snapped without denying the allegations. "She had no right!"

Madam Annis smiled thoughtfully and assured Vivian, "I'll take care of it."

"You better," A disgruntled Vivian snarled. "Or I'll… Or I'll…"

She stormed away too furious to finish her sentence and Madam Annis pulled Gwaine into the cluttered shed to talk to him.

"I appreciate you coming to my defense," She assured him with a pleasant smile. "You've always been a chivalrous lad, a knight in shining armor. But see you've actually created more work for me. I'm the one who has to clean that bed."

"I'm sorry," Gwaine put his head down. "It's just that she hates me for no reason."

Madam Annis shook her head no, "Do you remember what I said about the defense mechanism?"

Gwaine nodded, "When threatened a creature will defend itself. But I never threatened her."

"You did with your presence," Madam Annis explained. "Vivian's mother died. The maid ran off. The governess resigned. Almost everyone she's ever been close to has left her. And abandonment causes great pain. She doesn't want you getting close to her for fear of getting hurt if you leave. She doesn't hate ya lad. She's merely defending herself."

Gwaine laughed rubbing a hand over his sore bruised arms, "I'm pretty sure she hates me."

"I'll prove she doesn't," Annis said confidently. "That is if you are up for a challenge."

Gwaine, not the type to back down from a dare, nodded proudly, "Bring it."

Annis smirked, "I want you to apologize and kiss her on the cheek."

"No way," Gwaine exclaimed. "She'll beat me to a pulp if I kiss her!"

"I never took you for a yellow belly," His aunt taunted.

And Gwaine stormed the field to defend his good name, for he was no yellow belly. Annis watched with amusement through the shed window. She winced as Vivian slapped Gwaine; who returned shortly rubbing his red jaw.

"I told you," He said.

Annis shushed him and turned him to the window. He watched in awe as Vivian wistfully caressed the cheek he'd blessed with his wonderful lips. She smiled dreamily for more than a few seconds before lifting her heavy skirts and running to her big sister. Vivian's hands waived ecstatically as she told Morgause all about the magical moment. Morgause smiled happily demanding every detail as she walked away with an arm around her little sister's shoulders.

An utterly confused Gwaine turned to his Aunt mouth ajar. He questioned, "Did Vivian tell you she liked me."

"No"

"Then how did you know?"

His Aunt smiled, "People have many layers Gwaine. If you are to ever become an officer of the law you must learn to look beneath the surface."

Eight years later Vivian shivered as the cool air hit her bare moist nether regions. She sat up wincing in pain from the soreness between her legs. She leaned forward to pull her panties up over her cold naked ass.

"I'm sorry," She heard Gwaine whisper in the dark barn.

"I wanted this," She smiled dreamily and placed a ginger kiss upon his cheek. "I only pray that you do not smear my name or treat me differently. Friends for life right?"

"Friends for life, I'll never tell anyone," he vowed hooking his pinky with hers. They shook on it, a soft laugh escaping the two of them.

He helped her to her feet and they left the barn. As they strolled back toward the mansion on that breezy overcast night he couldn't help but whisper, "Vivian I'm so glad you feel better. I truly am but I implore you to tell me what troubled your heart earlier. Is it an arranged marriage?"

"No"

"Are you moving back to England?"

"No."

She stopped in her tracks and he ceased before her.

She raised her pinky once more, "Swear to me we will never speak of this night again."

"Vivian"

"Swear to me, Gwaine."

With a sigh and a shake of his head he hooked his pinky around hers…

xXx

_Cuff Links_

A freezing Gwaine snapped out of his contemplation. His heart leapt as Vivian's stagecoach came into focus bouncing over the red brick road. The horses came to a halt before him and he laughed at all her elegant new luggage. He walked over, opened the latch to help her out and she pulled her elegant shawl around her shoulders.

He scolded her playfully in regard to the fancy new bags, "You were late because you were shopping?!"

"I'm sorry," A soft laugh escaped her supple lips, "Why did you ask me to meet you at this corner?"

"Only to take you to your favorite restaurant," He grinned proudly.

"Gwaine," She gasped. "You can't afford this place."

"None sense," He chuckled. "Nothing's too good for my lady. And to be perfectly honest I wanted to make up for the horribly unconventional marriage proposal I gave you."

She smiled up at his roguishly handsome face taking his calloused hands. She assured him, "That proposal was a Gwaine original. I wouldn't have had it any other way."

He leaned forward to place his lips upon hers, her eyes closing with anticipation.

"Lady Vivian"

She backed away immediately withdrawing her dainty mitts from her lover's grasp at the site of a fellow aristocrat. A man with dark chin length hair and bulging eyes that sort of put Gwaine in the mind of a ferret.

"Good evening Cedric," Vivian said with a charming smile.

"Well are you going to stand out here all night or go in," Cedric jested without even bothering to address the man of lower status standing with her.

Gwaine's teeth clenched at the sheer gall of this arrogant little man.

"Actually my servant and I were just leaving," Vivian said shuffling Gwaine into the stagecoach. She called up to the driver, "Please pull us around the corner."

"Servant!" Gwaine called as she climbed in after him, the stagecoach pulling into the vacant alley. "Is that why you didn't want to eat there?! You were afraid I'll embarrass you in front of your pompous friends. Are you ashamed of me Vivian?"

"No!" She swore with tears in her eyes. "I love you."

"Then why keep our relationship a secret?"

"It's complicated," She cried taking his hand. "I am begging you to trust me and give me a little more time."

His clenched jaw softened with her kiss.

"I deserve an answer." He stated firmly.

"And you will have one soon enough," She promised.

Vivian sniffled, "You can't stay mad at me."

"And why can't I," Gwaine pouted.

"Because you haven't even seen your birthday gift," She chimed passing him a small black box. "You've been so busy with your case I haven't been able to find the right time to give it to you."

He fought back a grin as he accepted her present. Gwaine gasped at the extravagant gift: diamond encrusted cufflinks.

"I know how obsessed you are with those things," She smiled at his shock and delight.

"Vivian," He spoke at last, his voice a little heavy with guilt. "You should not have spent so much of your money on me. I can't take these."

"You don't like them," She coughed, her eyes filling with hurt as he passed the jewelry case back to her.

"I love them it's just…"

She took the cufflinks from the box and placed them in his palm. She closed his fist around the dazzling accessories, "If you truly love them and me for that matter you would accept my gift rather than shun it."

He smiled and put them on immediately, "What do you think?"

"They're very nice."

"But?"

She sighed pointing in the direction from which they came, "They make you look like one of them."

Gwaine gave his devilish grin, "And what so wrong with looking like an aristocrat."

"The fact that I love you because you're not one," She admitted.

Her confession touched him along with her hand as she placed it on his thigh. She passed him a skeleton key with the other hand.

"This is your other gift," She explained. "So we can make love without anyone knowing. I'm aware of how bad your aunt's scrutiny makes you feel."

He accepted the key and hugged her tight, "Thank you. It's just…"

"I know she's like a mother to you," Vivian finished his sentence. "She's like a mother to me as well."

Gwaine pulled her to him bracing her mouth in a passionate kiss, the feel of his tongue dancing with hers sending tingles up her spine. His fingers unlacing her bodice freeing her supple mounds, her nipples perked with the cool night air, his head lowering to take a soft white breast into his mouth swirling his tongue around the taunt rose colored nipple. She moaned with need, pleasure, anticipation; her delicate fingers entangled in his silky dark tresses holding his head to her bosom. She closed her eyes and allowed him to work as he slipped his hand beneath her dress, his heavenly mouth rising to take her neck as he caressed her thigh's and everything between. Her moisture wetting his fingers as she softly cried his name not giving a damn that they were on the backseat of her father's stagecoach. The risk of being caught fucking a poor Irishman, and in public no less, made this all the more enticing. He was forbidden fruit and she had to have her fill of him.

"Vivian," He called as she pushed his hand away and climbed down on the floor of the stagecoach before him. He released a slow breath at the steamy vision of her as she came up between his knees her hands working at his buckle and soon they were around his dick. He took in rapid breaths as she placed her soft wet tongue on the tip of him, her warm mouth sliding down the shaft as he growled with need, his hand on the back of her head as she sucked his manhood, his lustful noises spurring her on.

"Please give yourself to me now," He begged yearning to tear her in half.

She shook her head no, licking up the side of his erection swirling her tongue around the tip as his hands gripped the cushioned seat and his toes curled so tight he thought they would break. He snatched her up tearing off her lacy white pantaloons, her dress forming a large crumpled roll between them as he pulled her onto his lap, a pleasurable needy moan escaping the two of them as he thrust himself inside, bucking beneath her as she rode him, suckling her still exposed breasts as her hips rocked in rhythm with his own. His mouth gaping in pleasure as passion mounted he fought to hold on just a little longer, gently squeezing her perked nipples slightly moistened by his kisses, until she cried out his name and he could feel her muscles squeezing and relaxing around him as her orgasm washed over. He drove into her hungrily, passionately his voice heavy with lust his mind spinning as his seed went flooding into her.

"Shit," He gasped.

"You didn't cum in me did you," A worried Vivian questioned but she could feel his satisfied manhood throbbing deep within her and she knew the terrifying answer.

"I'm sorry," He whispered.

"Oh God," She panicked, leapt off his lap the two of them fixing their clothes. "I'm not ready for a baby." With passion fading she started to sniffle and cry. "I'm scared Gwaine."

He felt like a jerk, "Vivian I swear I didn't do it on purpose." He wrapped her in a comforting embrace and kissed the top of her head. He spoke into her silky golden tresses. "I'm not ready either but that does not mean I would abandon you. Friends for life."

He offered her his pinky. She laughed softly as she shook it with her own.

She wiped her tears and kissed his lips sweetly, "I love you Gwaine."

"I love you too," He vowed. "Besides we may not have anything to worry about. My friend said he had to do it inside of his wife a bunch of times to get her pregnant."

"Truly?"

"I swear."

Vivian smiled, "Do you still want to go to the hotel?"

"Of course," Gwaine grinned emphatically. "This was only the prologue. But I feel the need to check on Tristan and make sure things are alright at the house of cards. I'll meet you there."

She nodded with a smile. He kissed her lips and climbed out of the stagecoach.

"Are you sure you don't want a ride," She offered.

"I'll be fine," He assured her with a charming smile and closed the latch.

Gwaine avoided the gaze of the black man aboard the driver's seat, whom he was certain had witnessed their coupling. The loving was fun while it lasted and now it was time to take the walk of shame.

"Shall I proceed with milady to the hotel Sir," The amused driver asked. "I'm sure she's in much need of rest."

Both Gwaine and the drive fought to hold back their chuckles before finally bursting into laughter.

"The hotel would be a great idea," Gwaine grinned. "But I seriously doubt she'll be resting."

The man tipped his hat to Gwaine and cracked the long black whip in the air, bringing the horses to a trot. As Gwaine watched the good spirited slave disappear with the stagecoach he grew further confused with the concept of slavery. _How can we take their freedom when we blokes are all alike…_

xXx

_The Hotel_

Vivian grabbed a bite to eat in the elegant hotel restaurant while the bellboy took her bags up to her extravagant suite. Her room was completely dark when she made it upstairs. Not a single candle was lit. She kicked off her shoes and felt her bare foot splash into something wet. She fumbled around in her bag, grabbed some matches, and lit a few candles. She shuddered. It looked as though the suite had been ransacked. The furniture was turned over and the carpet was soaked in blood.

"Oh my God!" Vivian screamed, followed the crimson trail with her eyes. There lay the maid. Covered in bright red blood.

Vivian ran to aide the poor woman who lay on her side facing the wall, "Miss!"

She did not respond so Vivian grabbed her shoulder. The young girl slumped onto her back. She stared up at the ceiling in silence: not blinking, breathing, or moving. She was dead to the world. Vivian felt cold all over. She was faint and dizzy. The room began to spin. Her mind and body were entirely overwhelmed. She felt the urges to cry, scream, vomit, and pass out all at the same time. She needed to run but her petrified legs were nailed to the floor. She forced down her nausea. Turned to run. At that moment she was ambushed, and tackled to the ground by a masked man. Before she could yell for help a strong hand fastened tightly over her mouth…


	6. The Catacomb

The Catacomb

The House of Card was in full swing as Gwaine perched on a stool at the bar.

"I really shouldn't," Gwaine protested as Tristan poured him another mug of ale.

"Who are you and what have you done with my best friend," Tristan teased. "The Gwaine I know would never turn down the three B's: breasts, booze, and brawls."

Gwaine laughed and raised the frothy mug to his lips sipping the delicious ale, "This is the last one. Vivian's waiting for me. I really need to finish my interviews here."

Tristan nodded, "I'll get Isolde. She's the only one you haven't spoken with."

Gwaine gave Tristan an appreciative nod, "Thank you for not being furious with me for arresting Cenred."

"I was going to punch your lights out at first but I realized you were just doing your job," Tristan admitted. "I know things look bad but Cenred couldn't have done it. He's my dad Gwaine. My mother has never been the nurturing type. It was Cenred who stayed up all night with me as well as my little sisters when we were ill with cough and fever. A man like that could not be a killer."

"I know," Gwaine assured him. "It's just that the evidence was piling up against him. He had your deceased father's watch in his possession. Antonio's murder was never solved; he was beaten so badly had it not been for the triscillian tattoo on his chest you wouldn't have been able to identify the body. Cenred hated Antonio so much he even cursed him at the funeral."

"You needn't tell me how much my stepfather hated my birth father but that does not mean that he killed him," Tristan snapped. "My birth father boxed. It was likely a match gone wrong."

"Probably," Gwaine admitted, "But I could not ignore Cenred's history of mental illness. We found him wandering about a couple years back with no recollection of where he'd been or what he'd done for the past week."

"He lost it for a little while after his sister died. I wouldn't call that a history of mental illness," Tristan stated in his stepfather's defense. "He's been fine ever sense."

"You're right," Gwaine agreed. "I'm sure he's innocent because you shot the killer any way. Bullet wounds don't just disappear."

"Not unless you have the cup of life," They heard Isolde chuckle as she approached scantily clad and festooned in glitter and peacock feathers.

"Cup of life?" The guys questioned in unison with matching bewildered expressions.

"It's just an old wives tale," Isolde assured them. "Legend has it that there was an ancient chalice once used by the priestesses of the old European religion. Anyone who drinks from it will be completely restored no matter how grave the injury."

"Even a bullet wound," Tristan murmured in a voice nearly a whisper.

"Well yes but it's just a bedtime story," Isolde said.

Gwaine and Tristan looked at each other without words because they'd both reached the same horrifying conclusion. Tristan drew no breath._ Is it possible my step dad could be doing these things and not remember? _

"Breathe Tristan," Gwaine chuckled after a long and awkward silence. "There is no such magical artifact and a bullet wound doesn't fade from existence over night. We've already established Cenred's innocence."

Tristan breathed a sigh of relief and straightened up at the sound of the bell; brushed off his paranoia. _What was I thinking? Magic has been wiped out for ages._ Tristan laughed, "I have to get the door." He made his way crossed the bustling game room and left Gwaine to question Isolde.

xXx

_The Catacomb_

Vivian frantically snapped her head to and fro as she regained consciousness. She was being held prisoner in what looked like a castle dungeon or a medieval torture chamber. She was barred up in a tiny cell. There were no windows or light, just a few torches casting an eerie orange glow upon the stone walls of the _Catacomb_. Grinning skulls of those long deceased were infused into the granite. The place was dank and musty. It was cold and smelled of rich soil and rats; who's clawed feet she could hear scattering in and out of the shadows.

"Help!" Vivian called in vain.

"Don't bother. No one can hear us," A voice solemnly told her.

Vivian whipped around, "Morgause!" She exclaimed with tears in her eyes.

The girls hugged one another so tight.

Morgause cried as she peered down at the silver bracelets locked around each of her wrists. They bore markings of the old religion, and prevented her from using her magic. She'd fought to pry them off until her hands began to bleed, all to no avail.

"We're being held in some sort of underground chamber. We're going to die," Morgause informed Vivian with a heavy heart and a broken spirit. "I'll never see my child born."

"You're with child!" Vivian gasped. "Does Arthur know?"

"It isn't Arthur's," Morgause heaved. "I wouldn't have been able to keep it anyway, not if I'm going to marry Arthur like father wants."

"Did your artist friend sire your child," Vivian questioned and Morgause nodded without words. "If you love this artist you must marry him and raise this baby together."

Morgause shook her head, "That wouldn't be fair to Arthur."

"Having a miserable wife for the rest of his days would not be fair to Arthur," Vivian replied.

Morgause buried her face in her hands, the hormones and stress creating a flood of tears, "None of this matters because we'll never leave here alive."

Vivian urged her to calm down. She pulled a perfumed hanky from the bodice of her filthy teal blue gown. She gingerly wiped her big sister's tears with it. The scent was a sudden and much appreciated escape from the grimy dungeon that imprisoned them. The girls held one another for warmth and support. The place was frigid and uncomfortable.

Vivian told Morgause, "This scoundrel probably just wants money. The bastard figured he could squeeze a ransom out of Father. Why else would anyone want to hurt us?"

"None of it makes sense," Morgause announced with frustration.

Vivian asked, "Did you get a look at his face?"

"No he threw a bag over my head. The next thing I knew I was here. How about you?" Morgause questioned.

Morgause hung her head in defeat as Vivian said, "I was ambushed. I never saw him coming."

Vivian forced a smile for her big sister. She patted Morgause's belly and went on to say, "Tell my little niece to just hang in there. We must try to stay positive. Father will be back in town any day now. We'll go free as soon as he pays the coward. You're going to see your baby even if that means running away with Gwaine and me."

"What," Morgause questioned with a discombobulated look.

Vivian replied, "I didn't eat with him at that expensive restaurant because I need him to save his money. Gwaine believes I was late for our date because I was shopping, but I bought luggage that night for a reason."

Morgause smiled through her tears, "So you are going to marry him."

"Yes even if we have to elope to do it," Vivian nodded. "I couldn't risk Gwaine putting an announcement in the news paper or telling anyone for that matter. You know how father gets, but the answer has always been yes."

Morgause sat quietly for a moment. She was amazed by Vivian's strength. Not just in regard to their father, but in regard to everything going on. Vivian had always been the spoiled one and now she was the rock, a glimmer of hope in their darkest hour.

Both girls let out terrified screams as their kidnapper entered the cavern. He was large and wore a leather studded mask. Morgause nearly fainted at a glimpse of his cold familiar eyes. It was like seeing a ghost. All the color drained from her face. _But how and why?!_

The villain unlocked the gate and snatched Morgause up by the arm. Without saying a word he pried Vivian off of her, and locked her back in the cell. The girls were still sluggish from the drugs they'd been given, they couldn't put up much of a fight.

Vivian cried and reached frantically through the bars. "Please don't take her away! Why are you doing this to us! Say something you monster!"

The scoundrel laughed. He covered Morgause's mouth and nose with a cloth heavily saturated with chloroform. She struggled, thrashed about violently as the chemical invaded her airways. When she passed out, he carried her away. Vivian's blood turned ice cold having heard that laugh before, that evil sinister laugh. She shuddered at a frightening revelation as she realized just how well she knew him…


	7. The Teddy Bear

The Teddy Bear

The _House of the Rising Sun_ was still in full swing. As patrons partied, and drank, and gambled well into the night. Tristan knocked cautiously on the door of Icis' torture chamber, "Um… Icis"

"What the hell do you want!" She answered in her usual cheerful manner.

She snatched the door open. Tristan obverted his gaze as she stood before him breasts out of her skin tight leather getup. Her fiery tresses weaved into a single braid that extended from the crown of her head and whipped down her back.

"A lady should be modest," He said willing himself not to stare.

"Do you see any ladies around here," She snapped.

Tristan ignored the pair of magnificent tits out before him and looked her straight in her ice blue eyes, "This place is overrun with ladies. What it lacks are gentlemen."

Icis' lovely stern face softened in a beautiful smile at his flattery despite her best effort not to. "Quit pretending like your different church boy. All you men are after one thing."

"Have you never met one decent man?" Tristan questioned.

Icis gazed at the sapphire ring on her finger. The ring she never took off, "I suppose I've met a few. One moment," Icis put up a finger and then turned to her victim. "Shut the hell up! Don't you see me talking?!"

There was a whistling sound as she swung the whip forcefully through the air, a loud crack as it broke the sound barrier and made contact with the man's skin just below his rib cage. Tristan winced at the muffled squeals of the poor bastard gagged and hanging from a contraption in the background. Icis turned back to Tristan. She crossed her arms over her chest due to the nudity making him uncomfortable.

"Was one of them the man who gave you that bear," Tristan prodded.

Her powder white cheeks turned rouge as she vehemently denied owning the teddy.

"You sleep with it every night," Tristan laughed, a little amazed that a woman with zero modesty could become so easily embarrassed.

"What did you come to my chamber for? I'm with a client," She snapped changing the subject.

"Your little boyfriends are back," He informed her. "Should I send them away?"

"Send them upstairs," She called with a roll of her eyes.

There was a series of metallic clinks as she cranked a shaft and lowered her willing slave to the floor. She released him from his chains and undid the buckle on the back of his head releasing his gag.

He moved his aching jaw from side to side before humbly questioning, "How may I serve you Mistress?"

"Did I say you could talk?" She growled as she robed herself.

He shut up immediately and she sauntered over to answer the door. The teenage boys filed in grinning from ear to ear, both brandishing bouquets of flowers, neither giving a damn about the shirtless man standing behind her.

The tall kid said, "Look the ribbons on my bouquet match your leathers."

"My father's a chocolateer, these are his specialty," Said the pudgy adolescent as he passed her a box of candies.

"How thoughtful," Icis said as she placed the flowers and chocolates aside. "But I will not be seeing you anymore."

"But why," They gasped in unison.

"Because once is all in good fun but true love shouldn't hurt. If you keep coming you'll end up trained like him," She explained nudging her head toward the shirtless man.

"What so wrong with him," The tall one shrugged.

Icis cleared her throat for a demonstration and turned to her client, "Bark like a dog!"

The teens gasped as he mindlessly obliged her. It was as if he was in a trance.

"Now stop," She ordered and silence followed. "Hop on one leg."

The man bounced up and down as he was ordered until she said, "I'd like to have a seat now."

The boys were horrified as the love slave got on all fours so she could use his back as a chair. Icis nonchalantly crossed her legs while sitting on the poor bastard.

"How may I further please you Mistress," The man beneath her said.

"You've been a good boy," She purred and turned back to the boys.

She spoke to her petrified admirers, "I didn't brainwash him nor would I mentally warp any man. But I do cater to the previously trained ones."

"I see," said the one with the chubby cheeks. "But I like you."

"As do I," The tall one admitted.

Icis rose from her man chair, an unfamiliar softness in her pale blue eye as she told the boys, "Then if you want to please me you will give your gifts to proper girls and never come back to this place."

"Yes Madam," The boys nodded with disappointment and filed out.

Isis sighed shaking her head. _I would rather hurt their feelings than their psyches._

xXx

_Gwaine the Profiler_

Downstairs Gwaine finished his interview with Isolde as well as his final mug of beer. He set the mug on the bar top and Gwaine confided in Tristan, "I don't think Vivian wants to marry me."

"That's nonsense," Tristan protested.

"No," Gwaine shook his head. "You should've seen the way she called me her servant and shuffled me away from her arrogant prick of a cousin, Cedric. Every time he visits Vivian's family he treats me like I'm lower than dirt."

"I hate that fellow," Tristan grumbled. "He's our absolute worst customer."

"He comes here," Gwaine laughed.

"Cedric lives here," Tristan replied. "He's an impulsive gambler and the only girl he'll see is Isolde."

"Ah ha," Gwaine chuckled, his eyes shiny with a buzz. "Now I see why you don't like the bloke."

"Alright I'll admit my jealousy," Tristan had a laugh at himself. "But it doesn't change the fact that Cedric is a clotpole. I know because my cousin Leon used to give me an earful back when he was assigned to guard him. Cedric was the typical arrogant rich bastard who felt entitled to whatever he wanted."

"Yep sounds like Cedric," Gwaine admitted. "I'd love nothing more than to punch that ferret in the face."

"Well you can't. He's royalty," Tristan reminded him.

Gwaine rose from his seat, "I'm headed to the hotel now but before I go I just thought you should know when I questioned Icis about the man in the mask she said he came after her one night. Unlike the others she was capable of fighting him off, but when she showed me the molar she lost in the scuffle, I noticed it wasn't the only thing missing. None of her wisdom teeth have grown in. Icis' height and chilly presence lead most to believe she's much older than she actually is. She's still a teen Tristan. She may have loved ones looking for her."

"That explains why she's the only one willing to screw the young ones. I'll see what information I can get out of her," Tristan assured him. _Gwaine is one hell of a profiler._

"Thanks," Gwaine said as he left to meet Vivian.

xXx

_Partners for Life_

The brothel had closed an hour before and Isolde was still in her chamber fighting with Tristan. A second bouncer had come on to relieve him but instead of going home Tristan was trapped in a ferocious argument. He understood why she couldn't run away with him. Alined owned her family and she hadn't a clue where he was keeping them. If she ever took off Alined threatened to kill her mom and force her baby sister to take her place in the brothel. But what Tristan couldn't understand is why he and Isolde still couldn't find a way to be together until circumstances changed, if only as friends with benefits. They couldn't marry but they could still be _Partners for Life_.

Isolde hurled a pillow at him. He ducked. She screamed, "Why do you insist upon playing Captain Save-a-Whore! You shouldn't have told the Lady Sophia you wouldn't marry her!"

"I don't love her!" Tristan exclaimed stomping over to Isolde. "How many times must I tell you this?! The morning we met in my shop I confessed that it was my birthday and…"

"I came back at closing time with a cake and seventeen flickering candles," She smiled with tears pricking at her eyes. "You kissed me and stole my very breath, and I knew my heart had found it's other half."

"And the second time we met," He started.

"It was warm and beautiful that day. You locked up the place to take me fishing," A soft laugh escaped her lips. "Thank god you're a talented tailor, because you fish as well as you dance."

"Alright so you caught more fish than me," He chuckled. "But you placed your lips on mine that day and stopped my heart. I was reborn right there on the docks. I had to have you for my own. And then the third encounter you brought a basket and a blanket."

She smiled through her tears, "We had a picnic by candlelight up on the roof of the shop. I wanted you to have me right there under the stars and cared not who bore witness, but I couldn't tell you because you were the only one in my life that didn't look upon me and see a whore."

"I still don't," He smiled wiping the tears from her cheeks, "And the fourth time we met…"

"I had to have you without a moment's hesitation," She confessed. "If only for one night I needed to be loved by you."

"And I you," He vowed. "We fit together like a lock and key."

"But we do not belong together," Isolde cried out. "Because the fifth time we met you found out just what I was."

"This is what you are forced to do Isolde. It is not who you are," He corrected her.

"Sophia is a perfect match for you, and I yearn more than anything for your happiness," Isolde admitted, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. "She comes from wealth and privilege. She's well educated."

"I don't care," He said stubbornly walking over to her; wrapping his arms around her. "It's you or no one, _Partners for Life_."

"I can barely read Tristan. Your mother hates me," Isolde spoke into his shoulder as he held her. "I'll never fit into your world."

"Then make me a part of yours," He vowed.

She looked up into his eyes lost in the sea of gleaming green-blue, "You know not what you ask for. I cannot continue pretending to be innocent for you."

"Then don't," He stated. "Just be you."

The smile on her lovely face soon warmed his stern and serious countenance. He leaned forward to kiss the lips that had been beguiling him all evening. She shivered with anticipation as he came closer, and closer still. She pulled from his embrace with a grin.

"Where are you going," he asked.

"To make you a part of my world," She said and opened the door.

Tristan laughed as three nosey performers fell through the threshold. These beautiful spies had been relating his and Isolde's conversation to the others who waited in the hallway. Tristan helped the shameless girls to their feet.

The place erupted in applause as Isolde announced, "Bitches it's time to break in the new bouncer!"

Tristan looked on with confusion as the girls began to shout, "Me first!"

"No me!"

"I called dibs last week," Icis reminded them.

Tristan questioned, "Would someone mind telling me what's going on?"

Isolde whispered grinning like a vixen, "It's a house rule. There are so few good men that when one of us finds one, we've agreed to share him."

"What!" He exclaimed.

"You cannot have me unless they all get a date with you," Isolde informed him.

"And I'm first," Icis interjected unbuckling his belt, gingerly slipping it from the loops.

He looked nervous, "Shouldn't I be taking you out to dinner?!"

"I prefer to have my desert first," Icis purred. "Then if you want you can take me to breakfast."

Tristan gave Isolde a 'please for the love of god help me' look. Isolde snickered and asked her, "Do you mind if I sit in on this one."

Icis shrugged, "The more the merrier."

The other's returned to their rooms, hoping that Icis wouldn't traumatize him before they could receive their date. Without warning Icis snatched the belt around Tristan's neck tight. He coughed loud. She loosened it some before leading him away on the makeshift leash…

xXx

_School is in Session_

The three of them went back to Isolde's chamber. Tristan thought to himself as Icis circled him as if he was her prey. _If I can find the man who gave Icis the teddy bear maybe he could take her away from this place._

"Icis," He called as she ripped his shirt open. Isolde looked on with amusement as the buttons went flying off.

Tristan didn't know what to do._ If I do this all that proves is that I'm like every other man and if Icis won't trust me then I can't help her._ "Can't we just talk?"

"About what," Icis slid up behind him. She yanked the shirt down off his broad shoulders and ripped it from his arms. Flinging it aside without care. Soon it was a discarded rag on the nightstand. She slipped back around to face him lowering her head to place her mouth on his chest. He gasped as she gave him a hard but tantalizing bite. It left a red mark and a knot in his pants.

_Down boy. _He coached himself. _Helping this girl is more important than helping myself._ "I thought we could talk about the man who gave you the teddy bear."

"Why? Do you want to fuck him or me Tristan," She grabbed his package swiftly and firmly. It hurt a little but somehow had him yearning for a piece of her. She looked him up and down: rippling abs and pecs, arms like cannons, gorgeous lips and sea green eyes. Icis told Isolde while she rubbed his hard manhood over the pants, "He is pretty isn't he."

"That he is," Isolde had to nod in agreement.

Tristan began to breathe heavily reluctantly pulling her hand away; hoping that Isolde hadn't noticed that he was hard as steel because of another woman's touch. His love for Isolde made him feel like a traitor.

"It's alright to enjoy it Tristan," Isolde assured him as if she'd read his troubled thoughts and he breathed a sigh of relief. "You have a lot to learn about us and _School is in Session_." Isolde casually walked behind the bar in her massive bedroom and poured herself a drink. "Want one?"

"Maybe… later," Tristan stammered.

"Suit yourself," Isolde said as she walked back to her wardrobe to dress for the impending fuck fest.

Isis leaned forward to seductively lick his ear sending tingles down his spine. She whispered into his ear striking up a deal, "If you do what I want I'll do what you want."

He took a deep breath. _I don't want Isolde to think less of me but it was her idea and I really need Icis to cooperate, or else Gwaine and I can't help her_, "I'll do it under the condition that you tell me who gave you the teddy bear."

"Deal," She shoved him down in a chair, "These are the rules. You do not leave this chair until I tell you. If you rise a moment before, I'll kick your ass and strap you to the chair."

Tristan swallowed hard, "Understood."

Icis walked behind him to ready herself as well, flipping through the costumes in Isolde's wardrobe, "You don't have anything leather." Tristan heard Icis say behind his head.

"Wear this one," Isolde tossed an outfit to her.

Icis shrugged, "Not my usual style but it suggests as much authority. I suppose it will do."

Tristan boiled with anticipation at the sound of giggles and whispers behind his back. Before long Isolde approached in a very small plaid skirt, her golden locks divided into two pigtails, a white shirt tied about her midriff. His jaw dropped as he gazed up and down her shapely legs further enhanced by the innocent pair of knee socks. Icis walked out behind her, a pair of glasses on her lovely face her scarlet tresses in a loose bun, a simple uniform more sexy to an adolescent male than anything he could've imagined: she was a school teacher. And he was a more than willing pupil.

He grinned stupidly and bit his lip. _School is in session! _

Icis sauntered over and lifted his chin with the heavy wooden paddle as she informed him with a very stern tone, "Now I expect you to be a very good boy?"

"I don't know. The two of you are making me want to be very bad," He flirted.

Icis shoved him in the chest with the blunt end of her paddle, "For that little slip up you'll have to sit in the corner for even longer."

Tristan eyes bulged as Icis gingerly unbuttoning Isolde's blouse and began breathing opium off of her naked bosom. What powder remained was licked and suckled off her taunt nipples while Isolde moaned lustfully and held her teacher's head in place.

Their kissing and fondling made a tent of Tristan's pants and he gripped the arms of the chair to prevent touching his own dick, "Mrs. Icis I beg of you let me out of the corner."

"No Tristan! Do I have to put you in the dunce cap? Your punishment isn't over," Icis scolded as she pulled the shirt off of Isolde's shoulders. Isolde modestly covered her breasts with her hands peeking over her naked shoulder at him and his massive erection begged for relief.

Icis smacked the paddle against her own palm while questioning Tristan, "Has Isolde been behaving?"

"Nooooooo Ma'am," Tristan shook his head with a naughty grin and spoke innocently, "Isolde wasn't playing nice at all Mrs. Isis. She picked a fight with me. She even tried to have me marry another girl."

Isolde gasped at Tristan's snitching, "That's just unfair!"

Icis tissed and wagged a finger at Isolde, "Throwing away the man you love, very naughty indeed. Now you get a paddling."

Isolde assumed the position: kneeling on the bed with her hands clutching the headboard. She was a delectable vision as her round naked breasts were merely curtained by her long blonde ponytails and as she leaned forward and Tristan caught a glimpse of the bare ass beneath her short skirt he realized undergarments would not be an obstacle. He swallowed hard feeling hot all over at the loud smack of the paddle against her bottom.

Isolde cried out in passion as an overwhelming lust washed over her at the delicious sting of the paddle on her ass cheeks, "Harder! Harder! I was very bad!"

Tristan wanted, needed to kiss, lick, fuck them both so hard they'd never torture him like this again, "Mrs. Icis please let me out of the corner!"

"If you leave the corner I'll spank you Tristan," She warned him with a smile.

_Oh God I hope so! _He practically ran across the room kicking off shoes, shedding socks and trousers on the way…

xXx

_The Teddy Bear_

Tristan lay in a satisfied drug induced haze with passion marks all over his neck, and a soft naked girl sleeping on each shoulder. It had been an all around night of pleasure. He smiled softly to himself at the way the women pleased one another and him. He shook the erotic images from his head as they were beginning to make him hard and he could not stay. The mixture of drugs and liquor would likely cause him to over sleep and he would get fired if Alined found him in Isolde's chamber in the morning. He shifted his left arm out from under Icis' sleeping head, and tucked his right arm from beneath Isolde. The girls released a sleepy moan or two but didn't wake.

"Isolde," He gently shook her shoulder, "Isolde." But she was practically in a comma so he merely placed a sweet and loving kiss upon her lips.

He turned to Icis who was at last beginning to stir, "Icis."

"Huh," she answered groggily.

"I held up my end of the bargain," He reminded her, sitting up in bed.

She spoke softly and sleepily, "I know it would please a softy like you to hear that some bloke swept me off my feet and unfortunate circumstances parted us, but that was not the case. I got that bear as well as this sapphire rock on my finger from the only men who ever loved me: my brothers."

"Why did you leave home," Tristan pressed.

"Because my father would commit sins with slave women and then seek to punish himself for it," She confessed.

Tristan questioned, "Was he having sex with you?"

She shook her head sitting up, "No but he would force me to beat and dominate him. It was awful. Alined found me on the streets and brought me here under the guise of being a 'waitress'. I was still a maiden and I had no idea he wanted me to sell myself. When my first customer climbed on top of me I was so terrified I kneed him in the balls and punched him in the jaw. I grew frightened he would tell Alined and I'd be thrown out on the streets but to my surprise the man threw a fist full of cash at me. I've been dominating men ever since."

Tristan looked on in utter shock as Icis did something he thought incapable of a heartless ice queen. She put her face in her hands and cried. He wrapped his arms around her rubbing her naked back to bring her warmth and comfort.

He whispered softly into her hair, "Your brothers seem like descent men. What are their names?"

She shook her head no, "Look what I've become. I can never face them again."

"I have sisters of my own," Tristan confessed. "And if one of them was in trouble I would pray they'd come to me. Give me their names."

After a silence that seemed to span a lifetime she sniffled the words, "My brothers, the only two men who ever truly cared for me, are named Percival & Lancelot…"

Tristan kissed her forehead and assured her, "I'm going to find them, because there are now Three men who truly care for you."

She smiled, "Thank you Tristan."

He climbed out of bed and donned his clothes as Icis laid back down and wrapped her arms around Isolde. The opium had her out in no time, but then Isolde began to stir.

As he knelt by her bedside Isolde smiled softly and spoke to him in a sleepy voice, "Thank you for being so kind to my friend."

"Of course and when the time comes I'll free you too," he smiled gingerly brushing a golden curl from her face and she shifted up on her elbow to kiss him. He groaned as he slipped his tongue into her mouth which still bore the subtle flavor of her best friend's clit, a taste that was making him hard as stone.

It took all the strength within him to break their loving kiss, "I love you but I have to go now."

"I love you too Tristan," She nodded reluctantly and he grudgingly walked to the door.

"Tristan," Isolde called.

He stopped and looked over his shoulder, "What can I do for you my love."

Isolde yawned and nestled into her pillow a sleepy smile on her beautiful face, "Please bring Icis her teddy bear. She never sleeps without it."

He smiled softly and went to retrieve it.

**Please forgive me for the threesome and drug use. The story does take place in a brothel after all, and I did cut out most of the details. But no more kink after this chapter. I SWEAR. Thank you for reading :^)**

**-Embrasia-**


	8. Game of Shadows

Game of Shadows

Arthur Pendragon opened his exhausted eyes and pulled the cool moist cloth from his forehead feeling as if he'd been in an explosion. He sat up in bed painfully, an involuntary yelp of agony escaping his lips. It felt as if he'd been hit in the chest with a sledge hammer. He thumbed the bandages that encased his entire torso. He was no doctor but could tell at least one of his ribs was broken. He climbed out of bed on that humid night with an agonizing groan and made his way outside still shirtless and barefoot. He needed to trace his attacker's path. Arthur froze at the site of a letter bolted to his tree. He read it without snatching it down, a look of horror quickly spreading over his handsome face:

_Your slave girl __is doomed__. Your cousin Morgana will be next if you do not hand over the witness. _

_-The__ Man in the __Mask-_

A shiver rolled down Arthur's spine as he began to smell smoke and hear the crackle and pop of burning wood. Arthur whipped around. The midnight sky was lit up with bright orange flames. Guinevere's cabin was completely engulfed and Arthur was running at full speed toward it…

xXx

_My Family My Blood_

Morgause scowled, the veins at her temples threatening to burst as he trudged into the dungeon dusted with soot and wreaking of smoke. He didn't even bother to wear his mask any longer. Some people are just too close to hide your identity from.

He peered at Morgause with bitterness and disapproval as he berated her, "You would give yourself to a bloody overseer?!" He grabbed her face hard as she stood chained to the stone walls, "I own you!"

Morgause snatched her head to the side to rid herself of his abominable touch. With the pregnancy hormones calming down she no longer felt sadness or even fear, just bitterness and contempt of his betrayal.

She growled at her captor, "You are supposed to be my family! My blood! Instead of protecting Vivian and me you would kidnap us! You will rue the day I escape from this place!"

He smirked, "Was that a threat Morgause?"

"When I'm threatening you, you'll know about it," She assured him with a bone chilling glare.

A sinister laugh escaped his lips as he returned to Vivian's cage.

Vivian looked up at him as she sat on the cold stone floor, pieces of hay sticking to her turquoise colored dress. Somehow she wasn't even surprised. She laughed without humor, "I should have seen this coming. Your temper has always been atrocious but no one ever looks beneath the surface. No one ever asks why two girls with 'everything' would be so bloody miserable! They dismissed us as little more than spoiled shrews without ever knowing that you've been touching us for years. You would get drunk and make us touch you. I told what you did once but it only resulted in a beating for me. I wear a scowl and I'm mean most days, even a bitch, but at least I'm a genuine bitch. Why can no one see through your phony smile and fancy cufflinks?"

A twisted grin braced his lips at the perverted recollection, "Do you remember the night I broke you in? I'll never forget it. You were my frightened little angel."

It was Vivian's turn to smile as she rose and sauntered up to the bars of her prison, "I remember the night you _thought _you broke me in."

"What!" The veins on his neck popped out.

Vivian taunted him with a smirk, "Morgause warned me that as soon as I began to bleed you'd force me into your bed just as you'd done to her. I gave myself to Gwaine that night. So you see you may take my freedom, even my very life, but you will never have my virtue."

He shook his head with utter disgust and fiery anger, "No… no you would not give your maidenhead to someone so low! A piece of Irish trash! I taught you better. He's beneath you."

"No, Gwaine is too good for me. It is you who are beneath me," She answered. "And yes I fucked Gwaine in the barn, and in the mansion, and even on the back seat of the stagecoach."

She jumped as he slammed his fist against the cage. He stormed from her sight blood dripping from his knuckles. _That arrogant Irish bastard is a dead man…_

xXx

_The Burning_

Mary slowly rolled onto her side wishing her husband Aglain was there to hold her and rub her belly. But of course he wasn't. It was the wee hours of the morning and that bastard Uther still hadn't dismissed him for the night.

She was so late in months that sleep was next to impossible most nights. The baby was kicking again and it seemed as if every sleeping position hurt her back. And though she was looking forward to being a mom she had grown exhausted with being pregnant.

At last she gave up on rest and sat up in bed. She reached over, struck a match, and lit a candle before grabbing her knitting needles. She smiled wistfully releasing a sleepy yawn as she knitted away. _At least baby's booties will get done at this rate._

Mary dropped the needles and screamed in horror at the orange flames outside her window. She waddled as fast as her swollen feet would allow her to save Gwen.

"Wait!" Arthur hollered as he grabbed the pregnant slave girl and pulled her away from the burning structure.

"Gwen is in there!" Mary shouted.

"I'll go in and look for her! You go get help!" Arthur yelled, pointing her in the direction of another cabin.

Mary ran from cabin to cabin beating on each door. The slaves and overseers came pouring out of their homes. All but Percival who was out of town and Lancelot who was at his home in the city. The people fetched buckets of water from the pond and doused the harsh untamable flames.

Mary pointed at the burning building with a trembling hand as bystanders questioned her, "A man ran in after Gwen." She informed them.

Just then they heard the thunderous crash of the roof collapsing. The crowd broke into a panic.

"Guinevere!" Mary screamed and darted toward the fire.

A man snared and restrained her. She stood there fighting to free herself and watching in horror as the cabin burned with her friend trapped within its walls. The terrified crowd broke into a cheer as Arthur emerged from the fire with Guinevere in his arms. He was fine except for a few minor burns, but Gwen was completely unconscious. She didn't appear to be badly burned but she had succumbed to the blistering hot smoke. He fell to his knees with her and the slaves rushed over. Mary dipped a handkerchief in a bucket of cold water and passed it to Arthur.

Arthur wrung the cool water over Gwen's face. She didn't move. He dapped her forehead and cheeks frantically, "Breathe, I beg you breath!"

His heart lept as she began to cough. Everyone cheered joyously. Though it caused him great pain Arthur took her up in his arms and carried her to the infirmary, "I believe she'll be alright. Can you stay with her?"

"Of course," Mary nodded.

As Arthur laid Gwen down on the bed her eyes opened for just long enough to catch a hazy glimpse of her knight in shining armor. She reached one of her hands out to touch his cheek but her exhausted arm fell along with her eyelids.

"I'll look after her," Mary assured him as she looked Arthur over to make sure he was alright. "Dr. Emrys should be here first thing in the morning. It may not be a bad idea for you to see him as well."

Arthur took the worried slave girl's hand, "I'll be fine. You were very brave."

She smiled, "Not as brave as you." Mary looked him over thoughtfully. _His hands are too soft for him __to be__ a field hand. He __must be__ a house slave. No Pendragon would risk death running into the flames for a slave girl._

"Sir," Mary called, "Who should I tell Gwen saved her? I can only assume you are a house servant since that is the direction you ran from. What's your name?"

He hesitated. _This girl is obviously a friend of Guinevere's if she would risk her life and that of her unborn child to save Guinevere. But I cannot give her my name and have Guinevere see me as the devil._

"Your name Sir," Mary insisted.

"Mathew," Arthur replied. "Tell her my name is Mathew."

"Thank you Mathew," Mary nodded respectfully.

"No thank you," Arthur brought Mary's dainty hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles happily. "Its wonderful of you to look after her like this. I'm going to get something for your baby. I promise."

She giggled and shook her head. _This Mathew is a funny one._

Arthur gazed down at Gwen as she slept angelically. He had a longing deep inside that he'd never felt for anyone and he found himself aching with guilt. _Here I am engaged to be married but longing to be with a slave girl._ He lowered his face to place a sweet kiss on the temple of this beautiful stranger before walking out of the infirmary.

A piece of paper floated gingerly on the breeze before landing on Arthur's bare foot. He knelt painfully to retrieve it. Confusion spread over his face as he glared at the singed but unpunched ticket. It was dated for well over a month ago with a very familiar name on it. _Lord Olaf never left town. I was in a meeting with the royal family when I glanced out the window and saw Gwen for the first time. He had to have noticed the way I gazed at her and the manner in which I abruptly ended the meeting. Olaf assumed we were lovers. He didn't want anyone getting in the way of my marriage to his daughter…_

xXx

_The Asylum_

The following morning Isolde grabbed Tristan's wrist as he made his way up the steps of the insane asylum.

"You don't have to do this with me. I'm use to visiting my mother with Icis or completely alone," Isolde assured him.

Tristan took her hand and intertwined his fingers with hers as he said, "Nothing would please me more than to ask your mother for your hand. I care not where she resides."

"You are so sweet," Isolde placed a kiss upon his cheek.

Tristan used the heavy iron knocker and an orderly appeared shortly.

"I'm here to see Miranda," Isolde said.

The nurse smiled, "I know. Most of our patients' families only visit once or twice a year but you're here every week. Come this way. I'm sure Miranda will be ecstatic to see you as always."

Tristan and Isolde followed the nurse down the long corridor. The occasional mental patient would yell at an invisible person or reach out to touch their clothing as they walked.

Seeing all the sick people made Tristan question. "What's wrong with your mother Isolde?"

Isolde sighed as they made their way up the many flights of stairs, "That's the saddest part of all. Absolutely nothing is the matter with her. Alined is my mom's oldest brother. He was left in charge of her after their parents died. My mom fell in love with a Mulatto man, a common slave. Against my uncles wishes my mother and father ran away together. They were happy in Canada. They had me and six other children over the years but my uncles goons eventually tracked them down. Alined lynched my father and forced me into the brothel. I don't know where he's hiding my siblings. And as for my mother, he petitioned the courts to have her committed to the loony bin, saying that no white woman in her right mind would ever love and bed a black man. Magistrate Pendragon was such a bigot he ruled in favor of my uncle and locked my mom up."

"Alined is your uncle and he would make you sell yourself," Tristan growled through clenched teeth. "I am going to destroy that bastard if it's the last thing I do."

They hushed as they approached Miranda's open door. She walked out immediately taking her daughter into her arms, "My Isolde." Miranda pulled her daughter out at arm's length to look her over and then hugged her again.

"Momma there is someone I'd like you to meet," Isolde said at last breaking the embrace and taking her lover by the hand. "This is Tristan. We're in love."

Miranda's gray eyes twinkled as she put her hands on each side of Tristan's face. She smiled up at him happily and hugged him tight before jesting with Tristan, "I wouldn't expect a handsome man like you to be hanging around in a brothel."

Tristan gasped, "Your mother knows what you do?!"

"Of course," Isolde said. "My momma is my best friend. We have no secrets."

Tristan smiled and made certain to say, "Ma'am I'm a bouncer not a customer."

Miranda chuckled, "Ma'am?! You'll call me Miranda or nothing at all."

Tristan grinned as he and Isolde followed her into the parlor area. He looked around a bit impressed that Alined at least sprung for a decent room for his jilted sister. _Bastard _Tristan grumbled under his breath but he had to smile. _That Miranda is a firecracker. I can see where Isolde gets her boldness and strength._

"Tea?" Miranda offered.

"Yes Ma'..." Tristan caught himself. "Yes please Miranda."

She poured both him and Isolde a cup. He sipped the delicious steaming hot brew slightly sweetened by honey. Tristan gathered his nerve, "Miranda there is something I must ask you…"

Before he could get the question out the nurse burst through the door with Arthur Pendragon. When Arthur couldn't locate Gwaine he'd gone to the brothel in search of Tristan. The girls directed him there.

"I'm sorry," The nurse apologized. "But he said it was urgent."

Tristan rose at once, "Is something wrong with my cousin."

"No," Arthur said. "But we have to find Gwaine now."

xXx

_Game of Shadows_

Gwaine had been leading a massive search party for Vivian so it took until the dead of night for Tristan and Arthur to find him.

"It isn't Olaf!" Gwaine screamed as Arthur and Tristan confronted him with the unused ticket. "The man's a saint! I'd been in trouble so much with the law Uther said he'd never allow me to become a U.S. Marshal. But then Olaf put in a good word for me. Lord Olaf is a good man who would never hurt his daughters!"

"He's a monster Gwaine!" Tristan shouted. "Your love and respect for him blind you to his true nature!"

"He's right," Arthur added. "The man attempted to burn my slave alive! Now use that amazing mind of yours and figure out where he's taken my fiancée and her sister!"

"I don't believe it," Gwaine murmured, his mind whirling, his stomach turning flips.

Tristan grabbed him by the shoulders, "I need you to pull yourself together and figure this thing out. You can do this."

Tristan could see Gwaine's incredible mind racing with possibilities until he reached a conclusion, "I know where he's keeping them…"

They hurried outside into the dead of night. It was an inky black as the fog rolled in off the waters they could barely see their own hands in front of their faces. They only hoped that from the driver's elevated position he could see further down the road than they.

Arthur informed them, "Lancelot is protecting Leon and Morgana at his home in the city."

Tristan gasped, "What was that name again?"

"My overseer Lancelot," Arthur repeated.

"When this is all over it's important I talk to him," Tristan replied.

Arthur nodded, "Tristan and I will search the catacombs beneath Olaf Manor for the girls."

Gwaine threw his foot into the styrup and flung himself onto the saddle, "I'll go to the Pendragon Estate to arrest Olaf. As long as he believes there's a witness there, he'll have to Return. Ya!" Gwaine spurred his horse forward and strode into a gallop.

Tristan and Arthur took Arthur's stagecoach that way there would be enough room for the girls. Clyde, Arthur's driver, adjusted the luggage strapped to the back of the carriage. Arthur had been in such a rush he hadn't even taken time to remove Morgana's trunk first. The driver tipped his hat to them and climbed behind the reigns. Arthur boarded the stagecoach with Tristan. There was a small window in the front of the carriage they could see Clyde through. Arthur gave a knock on the window to tell Clyde they were ready. He cracked the whip and the horses began to gallop. They sat in silence as their carriage rumbled over the cobblestones.

At last Tristan said, "We should stop and grab the rifle I keep behind the bar. Just encase he's lurking around when we get there."

"Good thinking," Arthur replied with a knock on the window.

The stagecoach didn't stop. It went speeding past the _House of the Rising Sun_.

"Clyde! You passed the Casino!" Arthur shouted and knocked on the window.

Clyde cracked the whip and the horses took off even faster.

"Clyde! Stop this carriage at once!" Tristan bellowed and beat on the window.

Clyde cracked the whip again. The horses were galloping at lightning speed. Arthur and Tristan clutched the seat to prevent being tossed all over.

"Stop this carriage at once!" They bellowed.

The carriage was traveling so fast Clyde's suit jacket flapped in the wind like a flag. His hat went flying off of his head and he turned and gave the boys a sinister grin. Tristan and Arthur gaped in horror when they realized it wasn't Clyde driving at all. They snatched frantically at the latch of the carriage. It was rigged shut. They hit a bump. The guys tumbled onto the floor. Arthur stared up at the large black trunk through the back window of the stagecoach. Blood was beginning to seep from its' seams and hinges. He and Tristan gasped in terror as they realized where the real Clyde was…

xXx

_Dreamcatcher_

Melina yawned and stretched her aching back as she blew out the Lady Morgana's candles. It was finally time to retire for she didn't have to worry about torturous dreams plaiging her lady any longer. At last she'd finished the beautifully woven artifact, crafted from buck hide, colorful beads, a few feathers and lots of love for a friend.

Melina laughed as she made her way down the cooridor and saw Uther passed out on the bar in a parlor room. She glanced at the barely touched bottle of wine. _I would've never guessed a big strong man like this would be such a lightweight. _The small Indian girl used all of her strength to pull Uther off the barstool and gently lower him to the floor. She laid him flat and placed a pillow under his head. _As much as I'd love for this evil bigot to__ fall off the __barstool__ and crack his head open. That would only create more work for me. _She shook her head at the sight of two glasses. _He was drinking with someone_ _he trusted _and_ they would just leave him here. I guess his friends like him as well as his slaves do._

"Damn it," Melina called out as she bumped the wine bottle, sending it crashing to the floor spilling all of it's contents.

She paused at the pungent odar of hogwarts and phillarian. _Uther was drugged!_

She gasped at the reflection in the mirror behind the bar: the evil man standing behind her. At that moment darkness fell as a sack was snatched over her face...

xXx

_Wrong End of a Rifle_

Gwaine's heart raced as the Indian girl came hobbling out of the mansion. Her dress was stained with blood. Gwaine could tell even from this distance she'd been struck a time or two. She was bruised and bleeding, panting for air.

Gwaine ran up to Melina and demanded, "Tell me who hurt you!"

She was hysterical. She could barely breathe, let alone talk. The only words Gwaine could make out through her labored wheezes were, "He raped me."

Gwaine asked reluctantly, "Was the man who raped you an older man with a British accent?"

She began to cry hysterically at the description. Gwaine carried her to his steed. He wiped the blood from her brow with his handkerchief and said, "As soon as you're able to ride go to the sheriff. Tell him to send his deputies."

Melina pulled Gwaine's sleeve and heaved the words, "Lord Olaf is here."

"I know," Gwaine said as he pried off the raving woman.

At that moment Olaf appeared at the back door. He ran at Gwaine with an outstretched gun and a determined glare. Gwaine took a shot at him. Missed. Olaf continued to charge firing bullets with an earth shattering war cry. Gwaine was struck in the thigh. He pulled back ducked behind a tree. He'd been shot only once before. The stinging burning sensation was intolerable. It was nearly as bad as the led ripping through his flesh. He was in unbearable agony but he endured. He reloaded his gun, blood running down his leg as he hid in the shadows. He blindsided Olaf. Tackled him to the ground. Gwaine struck him once, twice, thrice and then climbed to his feet.

Olaf dropped his spent revolver. Gwaine kicked it even further away.

"Gwaine" He pleaded.

"I'm sorry," Gwaine told his mentor remorsefully and regretfully. "I have to do this. Uther will never see you tried for your crimes." Gwaine drew back on the hammer of the gun, closed his eyes tight, and prepared to pull the trigger.

"Stop!" Melina yelled as she threw her body over Lord Olaf's.

Gwaine shouted in frustration, "Why the hell would you protect your rapist!"

Melina informed Gwaine, "The man who raped me was young!"

At that moment Gwaine caught the wrong end of a rifle to the face...

**Thank you for reading chapter 8. Final chapters for _House of the Rising Sun_****will be up this week :^)**

**-Embrasia-**


	9. Cry For Me

Cry For Me

Gwaine woke up strapped to a chair in what looked like a torture chamber. His head throbbed from the awful hit he took. He gasped in utter disbelief knowing for certain why Leon was stabbed. Leon would have certainly recognized a man he spent years guarding.

Gwaine watched in horror as Vivian's cousin, Cedric, gathered his tools of destruction.

Gwaine growled at the brown haired man, "Well if it isn't ferret face!"

Cedric laughed, "That's Duke Ferret Face to you commoner."

"Mommy and Daddy cut you off after you pissed off the fortune they sent you here with and now you're after Lord Olaf's," Gwaine announced with anger and bitterness. "Is it not enough that you steal Olaf's money? Do you have to steal his daughters too?"

"I own them now," Cedric smugly announced and then walked over to Gwaine.

"You're no nobleman," Gwaine scowled. "You're just a common thief."

Cedric laid out a bone chilling display of knives, pliers, clamps, and other treacherous instruments Gwaine couldn't even recognize.

Cedric informed Gwaine, "At first I only came back from England to kill my uncle Olaf and inherit his property. I didn't have a problem with you. But you just had to move in on my territory!"

Gwaine called out vehemently, "To hell with you! Vivian's never been anyone's territory! And she's your cousin you sick freak! Your family! Your blood!"

Gwaine hollered in excruciating pain as Cedric dug his thumb in the bullet wound.

Cedric released a sinister laugh and told Gwaine, "You're the biggest jackass I've ever met. You shot at my uncle when he was just trying to stop me from putting a bullet in the back of your head. I still managed to put a nice wound in your thigh though."

Gwaine wailed as Cedric dug in the wound again. Then the monster cracked Gwaine's shins with a metal rod.

As Gwaine grimaced in pain Cedric laughed and said, "I was going to shoot you but this is so much more entertaining. Morgause and Vivian believe you're the man of steel; incapable of tears. They think you're the strongest man they've ever met, but I know better! I'm going to break you like one of my slaves. Once I do you'll catch the bullet I vowed to give you earlier!" Cedric gave Gwaine a brutal punch to the ribs and shouted, "Cry for me you little bitch!"

The blow knocked the wind out of Gwaine. He heaved to catch his breath. When Gwaine thought he'd gotten the worst of it Cedric struck him with the metal rod again. As Gwaine sat being tortured awaiting his pending death, his mind raced with revelations that should've been apparent to him. _Cedric hits like a hammer. Tristan said his cousin Leon had bruises on the soft tissue of his back where his kidneys are. During a street fight an average man would instinctively land as many blows to his opponent's head as possible. Only a boxer would know that a combination to the kidneys is often far more devastating, for there are many hard bones to protect the head and face but not one to protect the kidneys. _

Gwaine boldly said, "It seems you gamble with more than dice Cedric! How much did you lose the night you went up against Tristan's father? It had to be quite a bit. He opened his tailor shop with the winnings he made whooping your arrogant ass!"

Cedric ripped off Gwaine's fingernail with a pair of pliers and shouted, "Shut up and cry for me pussy!"

Gwaine breathed heavily in response to the pain he was in, but refused to let Cedric break him.

As Cedric ripped out another nail Gwaine called, "Is… that… why you killed him? You couldn't just take the loss like a man! You gathered your goons and met him out behind his shop. Beat him to death in that alley! And an arrogant bastard like you couldn't just kill the man. Nooooo. You had to take his watch as a trophy. But after you slipped up and killed a rich white girl because you assumed Elena was a slave, law enforcement was hot on your trail. You had some kid in the market sell your trophy to Count Cenred."

"Ah yes Cenred makes a wonderful scapegoat. If you believed he was capable of committing all my atrocities, why wouldn't everyone else. Did you know your friend's stepfather had a nervous breakdown after what I did to his illegitimate half sister? Cenred's guards found him wandering and babbling. He was committed to the loony bin for five months? That'll look very bad in court. The French government will see Cenred in the guillotine for what I've done." Cedric punched Gwaine hard in the jaw and shouted, "Now cry like the little girl you are!"

Gwaine laughed. "You hit like girl! Speaking of girls, I noticed the ladder outside of Isolde's window after the 'break in'. You were stalking her just as you were stalking Vivian and Morgause. For a long time you drove up the price so high for Isolde's company in order to ensure she never saw another man. But soon you found out she was giving Tristan what you'd always had to pay for! And that's when you decided to kill her!"

Gwaine hollered out as Cedric sliced him across the chest with a knife.

Cedric twirled the knife in front of Gwaine's eye and demanded, "Go ahead cry for me! Come on just a few tears and I'll end your suffering."

Gwaine released an earth shattering yell as Cedric pierced his arm with a large hook. The screams echoed and resounded from the chamber walls.

Gwaine announced between panicked breaths, "I've... known... pathetic pieces of work like you my entire life... Spoiled entitled prick! How could you turn on your own family?!"

"My family turned on me! My parents, my uncle all cut me off after I lost the money over that fight with Antonio. I snatched Uncle Olaf just before he departed for England. That way no one would be looking for him. It took over a month for me to torture him into naming me heir of his estate. I planned to starve him to death. Since he didn't give a damn if I ate when he cut me off! The slippery bastard escaped but thanks to you I've captured him again," Cedric bellowed. "And now he's sentenced to die in a prison without bars."

A cold chill swept over Gwaine as he noticed the clay on Cedric's clothes, the freshly laid bricks and stones of the Catacomb wall, "No... no..." He murmered shaking his head in horror, "You took his boarding pass as a trophy. That's how it ended up in the fire. You are a coward who sees women as objects to be possessed and Vivian refused to be your god damned trophy!"

Cedric punched Gwaine so hard his ears were ringing. Then he pierced Gwaine's arm with another hook.

Cedric growled over Gwaine's agonizing wails, "She never loved me! I would've given her everything!"

Gwaine laughed at Cedric and said, "Is this why you're trying to prove you're a bigger man than I. You were a wealthy man born of nobility. She still wouldn't love you, even after a lifetime of knowing you. But I made her fall for me with one kiss. With one kiss I made a miserable and broken girl love not just me, but herself."

"Quiet or I swear I'll shoot you!" Cedric called out vehemently.

Gwaine replied with great fortitude, "Go ahead and pull the trigger. You're never going to break me."

Cedric put down the knife and picked up the gun. He looked down at Gwaine with pure hatred and contempt.

Cedric pressed the gun against Gwaine's forehead and said, "Goodbye."

Vivian screamed from the cell behind Gwaine, "Stop! It's me you want! You don't have to hurt him!"

"Vivian," Gwaine called turning his head to and fro to see her, but he couldn't. She was directly behind him. She'd revived from a sedative Cedric gave her earlier. Arthur, Tristan, and Melina were knocked out in the cell right along with her. Cedric smiled ever so eerily at Vivian before putting away his gun.

He told Gwaine, "I'll deal with you later."

"Don't you dare hurt her!" Gwaine called out.

Vivian began to cry as Cedric said with an evil laugh, "I think I'll screw Vivian right on this table in front of you. She's all grown up now, gave me quite an elbow to the ribs earlier. I bet she's an animal in the sack." Cedric leaned close to Gwaine and whispered, "What's wrong? You were laughing your ass off earlier. So tell me Gwaine. Is this little shrew of yours any good? I bet she's fucking fantastic."

Gwaine swallowed his pride, "Cedric, you don't have to hurt the girls. Your Olaf's closest male relative. His fortune will pass to you anyway. Let Vivian and Morgause go."

Cedric smugly replied, "I'm not going to kill them because I have to. I'm doing this purely because I want to."

Vivian screamed as Cedric unlocked the gate to her cell, "Gwaine! I love you!"

Gwaine called back to her, "Hang in there Vivian! Stop sounding like you're saying goodbye to me!"

"No!" Gwaine called out as Cedric drugged Vivian again.

Gwaine struggled vigorously to free himself and exclaimed, "Where are you taking her!"

"Some where you'll never have the balls to go," Cedric announced with a grin.

Gwaine's heart shattered at the sight of his beloved Vivian being carried off to her doom. _She wasn't ashamed of me at the restaurant. She was afraid of him, a very good girl in a very bad predicament._

Arthur groggily rose and stammered, "Are you alive Gwaine?"

"Yes," Gwaine assured him after just narrowly surviving Cedric's torture fest. "How are you and Tristan? How's the girl?"

"We're alright Sir," Melina assured him as she and Tristan groggily climbed to their feet.

The three of them frantically searched for a means of escape. Gwaine tried to wiggle free from his restraints. Arthur and Tristan checked the hinges on their cell for weaknesses.

Melina said, "I should've known something was wrong when Dr. Emrys reported his medicine stolen from the infirmary. I just assumed it was a drug seeker who broke in."

Melina began to cry and Gwaine assured her, "It's not your fault. Drugs go missing from infirmaries all the time. You had no way of knowing."

Arthur shook the gate in frustration, "This scoundrel's been under our nose the whole time! He'd accompanied Olaf to that meeting I abruptly ended!"

Tristan took a deep breath mentally preparing to ask a question he wasn't sure he wanted the answer to, "I was half conscious while Cedric tortured you. Were you saying those things to get under his skin or did he actually murder my father?"

"I'm so sorry Tristan," Gwaine said in a tone that told it all.

Tristan began to breathe rapidly. He'd always held on to hope that his father's death had been a mere unfortunate accident; that Antonio died doing something he enjoyed: competing with the blokes. The thought of someone destroying the life of a good man intentionally hurt so much more but now was not the time for vengeance or even sadness. Now was the time for survival.

Tristan sniffed a few times pulling himself together, damming up his tears as he told Gwaine, "See if you can scoot that chair over here. We may be able to unbuckle the straps."

The chair screeched as Gwaine forcefully attempted to rock it.

Gwaine informed them, "I think it's bolted to the floor."

Melina asked Gwaine, "Sir, can you possibly bump the table next to you?"

"I'll try," Gwaine replied as he worked his foot out of his boot. _Thank God my ankle restraints are just a tiny bit looser._

The table was next to him and his upper legs were still in restraints. He could barely nudge the table let alone kick it. The table wobbled just a little. The metal rod rolled off the table and across the floor.

Melina told Arthur while reaching for the rod, "Sir your arms are longer than mine. Do you think you can reach it?"

Arthur climbed down on his stomach and reached through the bars. He pulled the rod with the tip of his middle finger.

"Got it," Arthur announced.

Melina instructed him, "Now see if you can use that to unbuckle one of the straps on Mr. Gwaine's wrists."

Gwaine assured Arthur "You can do this. All I need is one free hand."

Arthur stretched out the rod and picked away at the leather strap. Gwaine watched with gut wrenching apprehension. _Please don't drop the metal rod. Whatever you do don't drop the metal rod. If you do we're all dead. _

Tristan nearly jumped for joy as the buckle came loose. Gwaine quickly used his free hand to unbuckle the rest of his straps.

Gwaine grabbed a large sledge-hammer from the corner and said, "Step back."

Arthur and Tristan pulled Melina to the back of the cell and shielded her. Gwaine swung with all his might at the latch of the cell. He struck it with a resounding boom. He bashed it again and again until its inner workings began to rattle. Gwaine gave it a mighty kick and the gate flew in.

Tristan gasped in horror as Gwaine grew faint and collapsed on the ground. Arthur swept all the instruments off the table with one big swoosh. Tristan whisked his best friend up in his arms. Gwaine's body was limp and unresponsive. Tristan placed him on the table. He put an ear to Gwaine's blood covered chest. The sound of silence is not always serene. At times it can be the most disturbing thing in the world.

Tristan's eyes began to well up as he frantically questioned, "Why is there no pulse! Why don't I hear a heartbeat?!"

**Thanx so much for reading chapter 9 :^)**

**-Embrasia-**


	10. Blessed Hands

Blessed Hands

Melina rushed over and pulled Gwaine's hysterical friend away from him. She checked for a heartbeat and informed Arthur and Tristan, "Your friend's still alive! There's a pulse, it's just very weak. He's lost far too much blood. Swinging that gigantic sledge hammer took what little strength he had left."

"Is he going to be alright?" Tristan questioned as he marched back over.

"If you allow me to work maybe," Melina told Tristan and gave him a nudge.

Arthur humbly said, "Just tell me what to do. What do you want me to do?"

Gwaine opened his eyes and groggily told the servant girl, "I don't have time to be treated. I have to get to Vivian."

Melina informed him, "If I don't stop this bleeding you'll be long dead before you make it to her. Your pulse is faint. Your blood pressure is dropping. You're going into shock Sir."

Melina told Arthur and Tristan, "Come hold him down."

They did as they were told. Melina passed Gwaine a rolled up handkerchief and said, "Bite down on this."

Gwaine squealed as she dug out the bullet with a pair of pliers. Then she cut the tips off the hooks and removed them from Gwaine's arm. Melina walked over to the torch on the wall and heated the metal rod until it was red hot. It took all of Arthur and Tristan's power to hold Gwaine down while she cauterized all the wounds. Tristan could smell his friend's flesh cooking. He could hear it searing like meat on a grill. Gwaine wailed and fought to get off the table. It took more mental strength than physical for Tristan to continue to hold his buddy down.

Tristan shouted, "Are you almost done! I've never seen him in so much pain!"

Melina assured him, "I'm finished."

Gwaine asked the nursemaid in his delirium, "Are you in cahoots with Cedric? Or is it just torture Gwaine night?"

Tristan laughed with relief and informed Gwaine, "You did well. No tears. Crying is for pussies."

"Then why are you crying, pussy?" Gwaine questioned his buddy groggily.

Tristan explained, "It's dusty in here. You know my allergies."

Melina replied with a roll of her eyes and a sarcastic smirk, "Of course Sir, allergies."

Melina grabbed a vile of medicine and told Gwaine, "That dumb ox was so busy stealing remedies he didn't even know this wasn't a sedative. It's adrenaline."

Gwaine groggily slurred, "It would've been nice if it was an anesthetic. I can certainly use one."

"What's that for?" Arthur questioned.

"You'll see," Melina replied as Gwaine downed it.

Gwaine's heart began to race, pumping blood at over twice the normal rate. Oxygen flooded his muscles and his brain. He sprung to his feet feeling like a new man. He'd never felt so alive.

Gwaine was breathing rapidly and speaking a million miles per hour, "Whew! That's good stuff! Can I have some more of that?"

"Sure if you want me to kill you," Melina replied.

Arthur promptly informed her, "He's had enough, thank you."

Gwaine kissed the nursemaid's hands and said, "These are blessed hands. You saved my life milady."

Melina blushed brightly at his flattery.

Arthur said to her, "I'll see that you are rewarded."

Melina modestly joked, "Maybe I'll take you up on your offer after we save the girls."

Gwaine passed Tristan the sledge-hammer and said, "I believe Lord Olaf is behind that wall please break him out."

Tristan nodded smashing the heavy hammer against the wall.

Arthur said, "I'm going in search of Morgause."

Gwaine nodded, "I'm going after Vivian."

They gathered a few of Cedric's weapons. Then climbed a flight of stairs and came to a set of metal doors. While Tristan continued to hammer away at the wall, Arthur and Gwaine Both took a run and start and rammed the doors with their shoulders. On the fourth attempt the barrier flew open. As the two of them ran onto free land they could see that the doors had been barricaded with a 2x4.

Arthur told Gwaine, "Slow down Hercules. Do you even know where Vivian is?"

"Cedric told me he was taking her somewhere I'd never have the balls to go. He knows I'm afraid of heights," Gwaine informed him. "And if you repeat that to anyone I'll shoot you in the face Pendragon."

"Your secret's safe with me," Arthur chuckled at Gwaine's expense. _What a girl. _"But doesn't that mean she could be in any high place then."

"I wasn't always afraid of heights," Gwaine explained. "As children Vivian and I had a special place we would go to share secrets and sometimes kisses. We'd climb the water tower to be with each other and away from everyone else. Cedric caught us on the platform kissing and touching, and exploring each other as kids often due just out of curiosity. But he warned me to stay away from his cousin and said I was beneath her. Of course Vivian and I ignored the warning and returned to our special place the following evening. As I climbed, the step gave beneath me. I fell so many feet my leg shattered in three places. I was in a cast for two months. I always thought it was an accident until now. Cedric is going to take Vivian to the water tower to kill her because that's the place he feels she betrayed him."

Arthur nodded and returned to the Catacomb to search the endless labyrinth for his fiancée.

* * *

Morgause sat with her wrists and ankles bound. She'd been blindfolded and gagged and for the first time she found herself wishing she knew dark magic but her mother had only taught her good spells. _If I knew the dark arts I could've made his heart explode or his eyes pop out. But wait a minute... even a binding cannot prevent every spell. There is something I can do…_

* * *

Melina questioned Arthur as they ventured forward, "Are you sure we're going the right way Sir. We seem to be walking in a circle."

Arthur admitted, "I've never come to this part of the catacombs before. We may be lost."

Melina assured him, "We're going to find your betrothed." At that moment the nursemaid pointed and asked, "What's that way over there?"

Arthur took a look, "It's a bunch of fireflies. They're spelling the word 'HELP'. That's my girl!" Arthur announced triumphantly. _I haven't the slightest clue how she does it. I merely thank God she can._

Arthur untied Morgause. He removed her blindfold and gag. She cried tears of relief and hugged him tight; the two of them melting into a kiss until they were breathless.

"You're safe now," he whispered in the darkness and as her tears soaked into his shirt she'd never felt so awful for betraying such a wonderful man.

* * *

_Tower of Doom_

Vivian had been on the platform of the water tower many times. After all it had been her and Gwaine's special place, but she had never gone inside it until now. She was up to her chest in water, which appeared inky black because it was so dark.

Cedric shouted as he grabbed Vivian's hair and dunked her under the water again, "This is where you came to be with him! I demand to know why!"

As he allowed her to surface she desperately sucked the air into her lungs.

After catching her breath she shouted, "I could be pregnant! Would you kill your little cousin?!"

Cedric dunked her under again and yelled, "Do you think I give a damn about you or that baby!"

Vivian surfaced gasping for air. Cedric growled, "You'll be lucky if I don't stomp it out of you!"

Vivian grew strength she never knew she had in response to that threat. She flailed violently, hitting, punching, and scratching him.

She screamed at Cedric, "You will not kill my baby!"

Cedric hollered in pain as she clamped down on his arm. He never knew she could be so vicious. He got her off, but she took a chunk of flesh with her.

He growled, "That's it! You're dead."

Vivian fought with all her might as Cedric shoved her under the water. He held her there while she splashed, kicked and flailed. She panicked at the realization. _He's not letting me back up this time. This is it for me... _

All the air escaped Vivian's body. Her lungs filled with water. The feeling of panic rapidly diminished. Her limbs grew heavy. Her swings became sluggish, then nonexistent. A peaceful calm swept over her as she slipped away.

A relieved and pleasant smile creased Cedric's face as he saw Vivian bobbing along the surface of the water face down. _Now that's that, on to Gwaine._

He pulled Vivian's body out of the water and stepped out on the platform. At that moment Gwaine stabbed Cedric in the face with a knife. Cedric screamed and Vivian's body slipped out of his hands. Gwaine dived to catch her before she went over the edge. He panicked at the realization._ Oh my God I'm too late! I'm too late._

Cedric squealed as he removed the blade from his jaw. He plunged toward Gwaine. Tackled him. They both went rolling off the platform. Each man braced the ledge to keep from falling to his death. Gwaine's heart pounded in response to the eminent danger. He never went on a tree limb after his accident, much less a tower. His mind filled with anxiety and he became faint and dizzy. A wave of nausea swept over him. Gwaine coached himself as he dangled all those stories in the air. _Now's not the time to get sick. I can puke my guts out after I've killed the scoundrel._

Gwaine and Cedric both fought to climb back onto the platform. They struck each other with one blow after another. Gwaine gave Cedric a knee to the stomach and another to the ribs. Cedric collapsed as the wind went out of him. Gwaine collapsed right along with him. The adrenaline had worn off and he was in pretty bad shape. Gwaine was in excruciating pain. He was weak and dizzy from all his blood loss. Each of his limbs felt as if it weighed a ton.

Cedric told Gwaine with a sinister grin, "You're not the only one who keeps a gun in his pant leg."

Gwaine looked helplessly up at Cedric as the villain walked toward him with the pistol. Gwaine used what little strength he had to grasp Vivian's cold dead hand.

A single tear fell as Gwaine whispered, "I love you too Vivian."

Cedric laughed. "I knew I could make you cry, even if I had to kill this mouthy bitch to do it. Now you're going to die right along with her."

Cedric aimed for Gwaine's chest at first, and then pulled the gun up to his head.

"I think I'll ruin that pretty face of yours," Cedric growled with bitterness.

Gwaine took a deep breath and squeezed Vivian's hand tight. Then he waited for the fated bullet that would end his life…


	11. Light at the End of the Tunnel

Light at the End of the Tunnel

Cedric stepped on Vivian's chest in triumph. She spat up the water. She regained consciousness and looked up at him. Her body ran ahead of her mind. Vivian snatched Cedric's feet out from under him. He went plummeting down. His face smacked the platform. Cedric rose to his feet with blood pouring from his nose. That's when he saw Gwaine now had the gun pointed at him. Cedric raised his hands in defeat. Before Cedric could plead for his life Gwaine put a bullet in his throat. Cedric gripped his throat and stumbled backward. He coughed and gagged as dark red blood ran between his fingers. Though his lips moved he couldn't conjure a discernible sound. Gwaine planted his boot in Cedric's leg and kicked so hard his knee locked. Cedric went sailing off the platform; hit the ground with a muffled crunch.

Vivian cried tears of relief as she crawled over to Gwaine. Her hair was drenched and matted to her head. She flung it out of her eyes so she could see his face. _Thank you God, I've never been more grateful to see Gwaine's face. I want to hold him forever and never let him go._

Gwaine pulled Vivian close to him and said, "You're safe now. He can never hurt you again."

"Gwaine we've got to find Morgause," Vivian announced frantically.

Gwaine assured her, "Morgause is safe. She's with Arthur." Gwaine pulled her even closer to him and spoke playfully. "I'm sorry it took all this for me to come up here with you."

Vivian smiled and assured him, "Better late than never. I've read a hundred romantic books. Is this the part where you take me in your arms, tell me I look absolutely beautiful, and kiss me passionately?"

Gwaine looked in her beautiful sky-blue eyes and replied, "Vivian I'm sorry to disappoint you but this is the part where I take you in my arms, tell you that you look like a drowned rat, and kiss you passionately."

She laughed, "You are such a child."

"Yes but that is what you love about me," he reminded her grinning devilishly as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Gwaine pulled Vivian's body into his and kissed her with every fiber of his being.


	12. The Peculiar Runaway

The Peculiar Runaway

Darkness fell over the Pendragon estate as a cloaked intruder hovered over a defenseless Leon. The Sorcerer paused at the unmistakable clink of Arthur pulling back on the hammer of his firearm.

Holding a pistol to the back of the intruder's head Arthur said, "Gwaine warned me you'd be back. I thought you and Cedric were one in the same until the U.S. Marshal pointed out a major detail. Cedric never used magic while fighting Leon or Gwaine, because he didn't possess magic but you do. Step away from the witness."

The intruder took one cautious step back and then another. Then Arthur ordered, "Surrender your weapon."

Utter confusion spread over Arthur's face as he glared at the shiny metallic object in his hand, "This isn't a weapon at all. It's a chalice, a mere cup."

The point at which the intruder turned around and pulled the cloak off Arthur was even more stunned. This was no sorcerer but a sorceress.

"Morgause!" Arthur holstered his pistol at once, "Why have you been trying to silence the witness! You couldn't possibly yearn to protect a man who would've seen you kidnapped and murdered."

"Of course not," She explained. "That artifact you hold is called the Cup of Life. I was trying to heal the witness not harm him."

"Why didn't you say so?"

"Because Uther is a bigot who persecutes anyone who practices the old religion," Morgause explained. "My diplomatic immunity would have prevented my execution but it would not have protected the Druid people I attained the artifact from."

Arthur smiled, "I should've known you possessed magic. That's how you beat me in that fencing match!"

"No actually, I beat you because I'm better than you," She informed him with a chuckle. "But you did allow me to retrieve my sword once so we'll call it even."

"I'm still sore from the ribs you broke," he pouted like a toddler.

She smiled softly leaning forward to place tender kisses upon his bandaged chest. Arthur released a long slow breath staring her up and down before saying, "If you allow me to make you sore we can call it even."

"Arthur!"

"What?"

Arthur smiled and passed her back the cup. She graciously accepted it, the two of them holding it as one gazing into each other's eyes for a moment or two. She hadn't seen her lover at the art gallery since the night her fiancé saved her, nor had Arthur 'stalked' his favorite slave girl. Morgause's kidnapping made them both realize that they really cared for each other. And yet their hearts still longed for other people. It didn't make sense how much Arthur missed seeing Guinevere, nor did it make sense how much Morgause longed to spend time with her artist.

Arthur leaned down to kiss her lips, a short sweet peck, releasing the cup as he did this.

Morgause sat at the bedside poured water into the chalice from the pitcher on the nightstand. She carefully poured it into Leon's mouth and he began to glow majestically, his scars and bruises vanishing before their eyes until he opened his eyes. Arthur and Morgause grinned ecstatically.

The first words uttered from the discombobulated man, "Where is Mithian, where is my wife…"

"I'll retrieve her at once," Arthur assured him darting down the corridor.

xXx

_The Gallows_

"You actually expect me to treat my own attacker!" Morgause scream-whispered to Arthur as they stood outside of the prison infirmary.

Arthur grabbed her shoulders to calm her down then said, "I know it's the dumbest law you've ever heard of. But in this state it's illegal to execute an unhealthy man. Gaius is out of town. The worthless physician my father hired told Gwaine he has a date with some gorgeous dame he rarely gets to see and he would not blow her off to treat a scoundrel like Cedric. Just heal Cedric with the cup of life so they can hang him, and we can put this whole ordeal behind us."

Tears came to Morgause's big brown eyes but she refused to allow any to fall, not for Cedric, not ever. Cedric had broken something inside of her that was releasing a darkness she never knew she was capable of. She vehemently proclaimed, "Arthur I would rather go to the gallows myself before suffering the indignity of treating my attacker! I'm just not strong enough to do this."

Arthur put a hand on her porcelain cheek. He said with a compassionate look, "You have a strength you don't even know of. You brought Leon back from the brink of death. So please fix the bastard's neck so that we may see it broken. Make that scoundrel suffer the indignity of being hanged like the slaves he feels he's better than."

Arthur kissed Morgause's hands and she nodded, reaching for the door of the dilapidated prison infirmary.

Arthur offered, "I'll stay with you the whole time. I won't allow him to hurt you."

Morgause assured Arthur, "Cedric's shackled to the bed. Even if he weren't he wouldn't be able to harm me. His injuries are far too great. I'll be fine Arthur."

Morgause picked up her black velvet sack which contained the Cup of Life and entered the infirmary. Cedric was groaning on a bunk in the corner. There were no other patients in the building.

Morgause pulled up a stool and removed a pair of shears from her bag. She spoke to Cedric plainly, "Ironic isn't it? As a child I was the one lying on the bed moaning, not that you'd really given me a reason to."

She cut off his shirt which was crunchy and stained with blood. She began to feel on his chest. Cedric winced in pain as she examined him. Under the circumstances she had no incentive to be her most gentle.

She went on to ask, "Do you hit women when you take them because it's the only way they'll feel something? I've never seen such a tall man with such small parts."

Cedric struggled angrily at her words. Even in this fragile condition his arrogance wouldn't allow the insult to his manhood. He would've strangled her if he were physically capable. At last he realized trying to fight his cousin was a useless endeavor. He was only causing himself excruciating pain. He settled down with a spirit as broken as his body.

She informed him, "It looks like the fall hurt you worse than the bullet. Your nose is broken. Your skull is fractured in at least two places. You have five, hold on… six broken ribs, and I haven't even looked at your limbs."

Realizing intimidation no longer worked, Cedric relied on the only talent that remained: his remarkable charm. Cedric pleaded with a barely understandable wheeze, "If you heal me and help me escape I'll sign over my property in England. You and your Artist can leave this country. You can be together and raise that child you pleaded for the life of. Just patch me up and pronounce me dead."

Morgause picked up the keys to his shackles. The warden had forked them over just in case she needed to move Cedric's body during treatment. She liked Arthur but she'd never be able to keep her baby and marry him. A chance at marriage and motherhood with the man she loved was so tempting her hands were shaking, palms sweating with anticipation, heart racing. Cedric may have been a lot of bad things, but he could read people like a book. He possessed a keen ability for spotting one's weaknesses and exploiting them, as well as twisting the truth in a manner that made Lord Olaf and other authority figures believe him over Vivian and Morgause every time.

Cedric wheezed, "Come on you can do it. Unlock the shackles and pronounce me dead. These American's are the enemy. Help your cousin."

Morgause threw the keys back in her bag and shouted, "Let me tell you one thing you manipulative bastard! You haven't been my cousin in years! You molested and abused us!"

Morgause covered Cedric's mouth. He released a muffled squeal as she shoved a jagged rib into his side.

Morgause informed him flatly, "If I make you better and you bribe a guard to free you before execution day I will have indirectly harmed all those you'll hurt later down the road."

Cedric began to tremble with fear and breathe rapidly. His heart raced and sweat beaded on his forehead as he saw the hatred burning in her eyes.

She growled with a bitter scowl, "This is the way this is going to go. You are going to cry for me. Once you do, I'll end your suffering…"

xXx

The Peculiar Runaway

Rain streamed down Vivian's face as she cautiously approached the entrance to the lair. She stood at the door glancing over both shoulders to make sure no one had followed her. She coached herself. _There is nothing to fear but fear itself._

She took a deep breath and gave the secret knock on the peeling decrepit door. An older woman appeared in the doorway. People called her Moses, a nickname given for all the slaves she'd helped to freedom in years past. Her build was frail. Her skin was ebony black with a snow white cap of hair. Moses took one glance at Vivian's fair complexion, straight blonde hair, and bright blue eyes and closed the door immediately.

Vivian gave the secret knock once more. "I'm not leaving until you agree to help us!"

Moses reappeared in the doorway and spoke in a somber tone. "Ma'am I don't know what you think this is, but I'm not in the business of helping white women leave unsuitable husbands. This place serves as a refuge for runaway slaves."

Vivian caught the door as she was closing it. "If this domain is a refuge for runaway slaves then I'm in the right place. White or not, I must escape! My father is no murderer like Cedric but Father is a controlling crazy person, and no one will believe me. Even the man I love is blinded to my father's treachery."

"My name is Harriet, Harriet Tubman," Said the one they call Moses. "Come in out of the rain child."

Vivian followed Harriet Tubman as she hobbled away on her cane. The former slave woman came to an empty kitchen and poured two hot cups of tea. She passed a steaming cup to Vivian. Mrs. Tubman took a seat at the table and Vivian sat across from her.

"What kind of father do you have," Harriet inquired.

"The kind who would whore out his daughter to Arthur Pendragon for sake of a political alliance," Vivian informed her before taking a sip of the bitter sweet tea. "I have the kind of father who would believe his precious nephew and then beat his own daughter with a leather strap for saying her cousin is molesting her. Lord Olaf is a terrible man. I implore you Madam, please help my sister and me get away from him."

Harriet Tubman rubbed her forehead and mulled over her decision. The room fell silent for what seemed to be an eternity. _Interfering in the affairs of such a wealthy and powerful white man would all but certainly get me lynched… _At last the old woman nodded. "I'm in."

Vivian called out with joy and relief, "Thank you so much Madam. God bless you."

As Vivian passed the old woman her savings Harriet informed her. "Don't thank me yet. This isn't going to be easy. You can't just hop a ship out of the country through New Orleans' port."

Vivian nodded. "I know Ma'am. Father has the largest plantation in Louisiana. He does a lot of importing and exporting of goods. Father's on a first name basis with all of the ship's captains, none of which would allow me to board without his permission."

"I heard Lord Olaf was kidnapped and tortured. Couldn't have happened to a nicer fellow," Mrs. Tubman said with a snicker, her wrinkled face lighting up in a smile.

Vivian laughed while wiping a tear she just now noticed that she had shed. _This Harriet Tubman is a firecracker._

"I'll need a few weeks to make arrangements with my contacts." Harriet explained. "You'll probably have to travel to another state in order to find a captain who will allow you on board without question. Most of the time you will be able to ride in a stagecoach from one contact point to the next, but you'll still spend a great deal of time on foot. So be prepared for it. Meet me here at the same time three weeks from today."

Vivian kissed the old woman's hands and rose from her seat.

Harriet added, "I would offer you a ride home but it probably wouldn't be good for you to be seen with a well known abolitionist."

"I'll be fine Madam. Thank you again." Vivian picked up her heavy skirts and disappeared down the corridor wishing that she could tell Gwaine her plan but thanks to Cedric's big mouth her father hadn't allowed her anywhere near him. The only servant she trusted was Gwaine's wonderful aunt and Vivian was being held at Olaf's country home with a completely different set of servants. She'd just narrowly escaped for a moment tonight and knew her father's goons would hunt her down if she didn't return at once. Lord Olaf had a temper, but Vivian smiled in spite of the overwhelming odds against her. _It's been two weeks since I failed to bleed. So much for the 'it takes more than once' theory. Though this is the last thing I ever wanted Gwaine promised he'd never abandon me, that we would be friends for life. I'll use Morgana's coming out party as a diversion to slip away from my father's goons and tell Gwaine that I yearn to runaway with him, and that he's going to be a daddy, and that the answer has always been yes… _


	13. When it Rains it pours

When it Rains it pours

The night Vivian had been waiting for was finally upon her. In just a few hours she would use the Pendragon Ball as means to distract her father as she slipped away with Gwaine. The lavish party would create the perfect diversion for them to runaway together. It had been seven weeks since Vivian last saw her lover. Her father had torn her from Gwaine's sick bed and sent her away. The only thing that gave her hope that Gwaine had survived Cedric's attack was the knowledge that her father would have likely brought her home if Gwaine was dead already.

Lord Olaf was holding her prisoner at his home in the country though that wasn't the story he gave Gwaine. Olaf needed to stay on Gwaine's good side for the same reason he vouched for Gwaine to become a U.S. Marshal to begin with. Olaf needed a lawman that would serve his interests even if that meant breaking and rewriting laws on his behalf, and Olaf couldn't think of anyone more loyal to him than Gwaine. But he still couldn't have his daughter with a man of such low breeding so Olaf's plan was to divide and conquer. Little did Vivian know, it was beginning to work. Slowly but surely Lord Olaf was turning her lover against her. And with her and Morgause being kept so isolated they hadn't even heard about the awful news: the terrible awful thing that Gwaine was suffering through without her.

Vivian dipped a quill into an inkwell and marked her nonexistent monthly cycle on the calendar. _I don't trust my father's servants one bit, especially that ambitious little serpent Lamia. Thank God Gaius takes the oath of Hypocrites seriously. He's bound by it to never reveal a patient's secrets. I don't know what father would do if he found out. At first I made up excuses: I marked the last cycle wrong, maybe it's just a little late, alright I missed it but I've been under so much stress. I wanted needed to believe anything else even after Gaius gave me the verdict._

It had been five weeks since Vivian found out she was pregnant with Gwaine's baby. It seemed like everything she ate caused heartburn so awful she could've breathed fire, and she couldn't move without having to pee. There were times she almost didn't make it to the chamber pot. Her breasts were becoming sore and she was becoming more distressed by the day as she weighed her options. One option in particular brought tears to her eyes every time she considered it. She didn't want to do it but every day she felt more and more pressured to. Vivian lay imprisoned in her bedroom at their country estate with a soggy ball of tissue in her fist. The rims of her eyes were red and puffy from crying; which she found was becoming her main activity lately. Even the strong willed Morgause cried in the dungeon at the very thought of never seeing her child born, so Vivian certainly was not exempt to the storm of emotion that being with child brought. Tears cascaded over Vivian's cheeks as the option played over and over in her mind: the dreadful choice she never saw herself making in a million years was looking more likely with each passing day. She felt such a pain in her chest unlike any she'd felt before but she had to be realistic. She was no mother, and Gwaine was no father. They simply weren't ready. _I don't know how to care for a baby and Gwaine isn't ready for one. _She put a hand over a still flat belly as she spoke to the little one growing inside. _If daddy agrees we are putting you up for adoption. We're going to find you a responsible, kind, and decent mommy and daddy who will love and care for you better than Gwaine and I ever could. Forgive me for I do love you, but it would be selfish to keep you._

Vivian smiled through her tears as the clock dinged loudly and the coo coo bird popped out in song. It was almost time to tell Gwaine everything, almost time to be his forever, and together they would decide what was best for their baby; even if that meant giving baby up…

xXx

_Decisions Decisions_

In the room down the corridor from Vivian Morgause stared back and forth between the two rings, torn as to which one she'd wear to the lavish ball tonight; a coming out party held in honor of Morgana Pendragon. To the naked eye the choice was obvious. The ring in her left palm was worth a fortune, a large flawless blue diamond surrounded by a ring of smaller white diamonds. It was the most breathtaking elegant piece of jewelry she'd ever seen, while the ring in her right palm held no extravagant stones. It was merely a plain silver band, a little dinged up, practically worthless. Yet she'd been sitting for three hours now trying to decide between the two, because she wasn't just choosing an accessory for a formal dance. She was picking a husband with whom to share her life. Both rings had come with marriage proposals. She smiled at the expensive ring. _Arthur Pendragon is a fine man with a good heart. He's a man of great means and power who any woman would be divinely blessed to have for a husband; and yet I cannot give him my heart because it belongs to another._

A single teardrop fell and splashed onto the worthless silver engagement ring. She gazed at it forlornly, ruefully. _You were supposed to be a fling! One final act of rebellion before I married a wise and proper match! I've never been the kind of girl to go starry eyed over a mere physical interaction; and yet you cloud my thoughts and haunt my very soul._

At last she chose a ring once and for all, a smile bracing her lips as she slid it over her knuckle.

xXx

_When it Rains it pours_

When it rains it pours and Gwaine had certainly taken a drenching. He'd spent the last seven weeks recovering in one of Lord Olaf's guestrooms when he was informed his Aunt Annis had died of a sudden stroke. He needed Vivian more than ever during this dark, confusing, and painful time but she wasn't there for him. _When I first revived from my injuries I asked for Vivian and Lord Olaf informed me that after the whole ordeal with Cedric she and Morgause requested to go on holiday. I understand her trauma but what kind of woman leaves her deathly injured lover to go on holiday?! If she was hurt I'd never dream of leaving her bedside, and she's been gone for seven weeks without so much as a letter. She didn't even return for my aunt's funeral! My life is falling apart and Vivian's "on holiday"! Thank God Lord Olaf has been here to support me. I don't know what I'd do without him. The man is a saint. _

A bitter and heartbroken Gwaine limped outside that cool morning with a crutch under his arm. The crutch took some of the pressure off of the leg he'd been shot in as he made his way to the cabin he once shared with his dearly departed aunt. No longer able to put off the task, he leaned over carefully to retrieve an empty crate from his porch. He took a deep breath, approached the door, and turned the knob.

Gwaine limped about the small home ever gently putting his aunt's belongings in the crate. _It still doesn't seem real. I keep thinking she'll walk through the door at any moment bearing a smile and leftover cake. Or berating me if I got caught sneaking out of Vivian's chamber that morning. _Gwaine smiled at the memories. He gazed for a long time at a photograph of the two of them, before at last willing himself to pack it up. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a small box wrapped in newspaper; this was the manner in which Coleen Annis wrapped all her gifts. Just narrowly escaping starvation in Ireland had caused her to become somewhat more frugal over the years, so she found wrapping paper to be impractical. Gwaine sat on her tiny twin size bed and pulled the gift from her night stand. He read the tag:

_Dear Nephew,_

_You've been so busy with your case I hadn't had a chance to give you your birthday gift. _

_With Love,_

_Aunt Coleen_

Gwaine was so overwhelmed that his hands trembled as he brought her note to his lips and kissed it. _I wasn't U.S. Marshall that day or even Gwaine for that matter, I was Nephew. _Tears began to run down his cheeks catching in the black net of his beard but he didn't bother to wipe them. He wouldn't have been able to keep up with the flood. He cried until his throat became raw, and his eyes burned, and his stomach ached, and his head pounded like a drum because of a simple word that always let him know when she was proud of him: _She called me Nephew._

At last he wiped his tears and with a few more heaves and sniffles he tore the newsprint from the tiny box. _Two tickets for the paddle boats. I had forgotten but after all these years she remembered… She remembered._

Gwaine picked up his Aunt's pillow and hugged it tight amazed how much it smelled like her. That's when the sparkling object caught his eye that had been beneath the pillow. He picked it up, twirled it between his forefinger and thumb in a state of utter confusion. _No… No it couldn't be…_

He dashed out the door without even bothering to grab his crutch. Gwaine hobbled across the commons and yelled at two passing slave men, "Exhume my aunt's coffin!"

The slaves peered at the extremely peculiar request, "Sir um…"

"I said dig her up NOW!" Gwaine shouted.

The slaves left to do his bidding at once. Gwaine limped toward the cemetery calling apologies to the heavens, "I'm so sorry Aunt Coleen but I must know why Olaf's cufflink was in your bed sheets."

**Sorry this is taking so long to finish. The holidays set me back :^)**

**-Embrasia-**


	14. The Pendragon Ball

The Pendragon Ball

The night was warm and mellow without, so much as a breeze to disturb the calm. Morgause, dressed in an elegant red and silver gown, boarded the stagecoach with Lord Olaf who was decked out in an expensive tuxedo. Vivian was already onboard, dressed in an extravagant blue gown and dazzling jewelry.

Lamia, a dark haired girl a little younger than Vivian, would serve as Olaf's date. Lamia rolled her eyes at the sisters; she hated them both. _They have everything and still they do not appreciate my Olaf; not like I do._

Lord Olaf always insisted on having the youngest women, and I use that term loosely, on his arm at all the biggest social functions. Olaf was in dire need of someone to stroke his ego; and Lamia was certain to stroke that and more. With the exception of Vivian and Morgause's mother, he always courted far below his station: poor girls, servants, even slaves because he yearned to be worshiped rather than loved. This was the very reason he chose Madam Annis out of all the poor immigrants on the docks that day. He thought she would make a suitable mistress, but she was too strong willed, and too pious in her faith to be his whore no matter what his station or how fancy his cufflinks. She shot him down from day one, and though it was a crushing blow to his ego to be so blatantly dismissed and by an IRISH WOMAN no less, he accepted it with the knowledge that she'd come to him eventually. They all did. But he was wrong.

Lord Olaf gave a knock on the window to inform the driver they were ready for departure. A slave man took the reins. He cracked a long black whip in the air. The horses broke into a trot in the direction of the French Embassy in New Orléans, where the Pendragon Ball would be held. He stared out the window as his carriage bounced down the dirt road, a tear leaving his eye and trickling down his cheek as he thought about the last night he spoke with Annis, the last night he professed his love, the last night he saw her alive... _I waited 13 years for Annis to stop wearing a dead man's ring, thirteen years for her to love me like I've always loved her. I wasn't trying to kill her. I've never killed anyone. Why couldn't she just give me what I needed that night? Why did she have to fight? I was merely trying to subdue her when I held her throat. I didn't know I was squeezing too hard. I didn't know and now she's gone…_

Lord Olaf looked up as he felt Lamia wiping his tears. He hadn't even realized he was crying and that he'd zoned out for the better part of the trip. Annis' death was harder on him than he'd expected it would be but he had to pull himself together because his daughters still didn't know. He couldn't enlighten Vivian and Morgause until he'd come up with a very believable lie. They didn't trust him like Gwaine did. After all that had happened to them they barely trusted anyone.

Olaf forced a smile and kissed Lamia's hand, "Have I told you how stunning you look tonight?"

Lamia smoothly replied, "Yes but frequent reminders are always appreciated."

Lamia couldn't help but enjoy herself a little. Nights like these were the only times Olaf treated her as an equal.

"I swear I'm going to vomit," Morgause grumbled in response to her father's flirting.

"Arthur is a fine match. The least you could do is look happy about it." Olaf announced with his usual charming smile, "Arthur is not only rich. He's well educated, and politically linked. He'll bring you great happiness if you give him a chance."

Morgause nodded at her father's reassurance but this was the one time she wasn't sure that she'd be able to do his bidding.

Lamia huffed and rolled her eyes, "Morgause is still obsessing over that worthless overseer. She wouldn't know a good man if he dropped to his knees and licked her cunt."

Morgause fumed. _How dare this lowly wretch speak to me this way! Bedding my father does not make her my mother!_ "That's Lady Morgause to you! Do not be confused because you're on my father's arm tonight Lamia. You'll still be a lowly maid and a whore tomorrow."

Lamia gasped, "How dare…"

Morgause put up a hand to silence her, "Now shut it. The adults are talking."

Vivian snickered, "My sister is more than capable of recognizing a good man which is how she ended up with two, unfortunately." Vivian cut her father a dirty look while speaking to his date with a smirk. "It is you, Lamia, who are far too stupid to recognize a good man."

_You insolent little..._ Lord Olaf thought before casually laughing off the insult upon his character. He couldn't lose his temper in front of this week's girlfriend. For now he would keep up appearances, "Vivian is Daddy truly that horrible? I'll never stop being sorry for what Cedric did and for not believing you. I love my girls. You know that right?"

"Then why are we being held prisoner," Vivian rebutted.

Lord Olaf crossed the stagecoach and put an arm around Vivian and Morgause which made Lamia's blood boil as she sat on her bench cold and alone. Lamia grimaced. _I will destroy his brats if it's the last thing I do!_

He explained himself to his daughters, "You're not being held prisoner. I sent you both to the country with armed guards because there has been a media circus since the kidnapping. I didn't want my girls eaten alive by the press so I sent you on holiday."

"I don't want to be on holiday," Vivian snapped. "I want to be with Gwaine. Please allow me to go home father."

"After the media frenzy dies down I promise I will," Lord Olaf vowed squeezing her shoulders and kissing her forehead. He repeated this with Morgause. "I assure you Gwaine is recovering quite well. I offered to bring him to the country to visit you but he said he was busy with work."

Vivian's voice caught in her throat. Tears came to her eyes. _Busy with work! I'm having his child and he's busy with work! No this is a trick. Father is seducing me. It's what he does best. Or maybe father isn't lying. What if Cedric revealed the fact that he'd had me to Gwaine? Would Gwaine want me anymore? Maybe Father is telling the truth? _

The horse drawn carriage pulled in front of the gate to the French Embassy. Morgause, Vivian, Lamia, and Lord Olaf climbed out and stood in line to enter the Pendragon Ball.

"Corsages, beautiful corsages fo da ladies," called a destitute black man behind a flower stand.

It was apparent to Vivian and Morgause just how different the attitudes of the French were in regard to blacks. Almost every one of the Frenchmen greeted the black man with smiles and purchased corsages for their dates. Almost every one of the American Englishmen peered at the flower salesman with disgust and treated him with contempt and hostility.

"Useless nigger!" Vivian heard the belligerent Americans call out.

The flower salesman ignored them and continued to sell his corsages.

Morgause called to the man behind the flower stand, "How much for two? I'd like one for my sister and another for myself."

The man answered in his broken English, "That a be ten cents Ma'am."

The man picked a lovely corsage with blue flowers to match Vivian's dress. He chose one with red flowers and silver ribbons for Morgause

As Morgause was paying for the flowers an American woman shoved her and ordered, "Move it along!"

Morgause fumed with irritation. Her thin brows furrowed in anger. She reared back to punch the tall heavy set woman who had shoved her.

Olaf grabbed Morgause's fist and cautioned, "Temper, temper sweetheart."

Lord Olaf turned to the flower salesman and asked, "How much for the entire stand."

The flower salesman replied with joy and disbelief, "Uh…Three dollars Suh."

Lord Olaf passed the poor black man twice the amount and instructed. "Now you just pass out these corsages for free to any pretty lady who wants one."

"Thank you. Thank you Suh," The flower salesman replied.

Armed guards checked their invitations then thrust open the gates allowing them to pass. Morgause and Vivian smiled and gave their dad an impressed nod as he slipped the colorful corsages around each of their wrists. Then he festooned his date's slender arm with one.

"That was mighty descent of you," Morgause told Lord Olaf as they entered the court-yard.

Lord Olaf lectured Morgause, "A lady should always use her words."

"Yes Father," Both girls replied.

"You got that right," The American woman snapped from behind them.

Lord Olaf twisted the woman's finger back in a manner that no one could tell he was breaking it, "Scream and I'll break a whole lot more than your finger." He warned. Tears welled up in the woman's eyes in response to the pain but she didn't make a peep. She could tell he was serious. He whispered in a most charming manner, "Just because I stopped Morgause from beating the daylights out of you doesn't make me your new best friend." The woman gasped in shock as he continued. "People like you are the reason American Englishmen are rarely invited to these events. You blatantly wear your bigotry on your sleeve. And quite frankly I don't give a damn if you do. But if you ever push my daughter again, I will take off the very hand that offended her."

The large woman gasped in relief as he released his death grip from her hand. She briskly retreated.

While her father was distracted Morgause took the opportunity to have a chat with Lamia. "Walk." Morgause whispered with a sweet smile that contradicted the blade she held at Lamia's side. Lamia swallowed hard and followed her beneath a large weeping willow tree. Its hair like branches hung clear to the ground hiding them from all the party goers congregating on the expansive lawn of the French Embassy.

"What do you want with me," Lamia questioned in a shaky voice.

Morgause grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against the tree. She gingerly tapped Lamia's lips with the knife, "Shhh." Morgause said and silence followed. "I know it was you who told my father about the overseer. And then next thing I know Father's twisting my arm to be with Arthur, trying to marry me off as fast as he can. It's your fault I have to hurt a good man tonight."

"Which one," Lamia asked nervously.

"That's of no concern to you," Morgause replied calmly. "All you need to know is this: If you cross me again I will carve you like a pumpkin. Do we have an understanding?"

"Yes Milady," Lamia addressed her formally.

Vivian whipped around as Lamia ran out from under the willow tree. Morgause casually sheathed her dagger and hid it beneath her skirts before sweeping the branches aside and sauntering out. Vivian's jaw dropped as she looked at the horrified girl quivering in Lord Olaf's arms. Had Morgause harmed her, threatened her? Vivian couldn't believe her eyes. _This isn't like Morgause: Nearly getting into a fist fight, threatening a chambermaid. She's been strange since the kidnapping. I don't know who this person is but she is not the gentle sister I grew up with. She's a very different Morgause…_

xXx

_The Ever Charming Lancelot_

There were well over two-hundred guests in the elegant grand ballroom. Couples waltzed to the melody of a live orchestra. The party smelled like a delightful mixture of gourmet food, expensive perfumes, and fine tobacco. The perimeter of the party was lined with poker tables, roulette tables, and various other games for gambling. Any party hosted by Ambassador Cenred and his wife was bound to have a casino type of atmosphere.

Arthur and Lancelot wandered the enormous party in search of their dates, who unbeknownst to them was the same girl. Arthur glanced around. Most of the guests spoke French, yet another language Lancelot was fluent in. Arthur was amazed by this. _Lancelot is certainly well educated for a poor man raised in an orphanage._

Lancelot grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and quickly downed the liquid courage. Arthur cautioned him, "Slow down Lancelot. You never drink and you're knocking them back."

Arthur was right. Lancelot was certainly beginning to feel those drinks. Lancelot confessed, "Arthur its just… I haven't seen Rose in nearly two months. I don't think she's coming."

"She'll be here," Arthur assured him. "My fiancée is late. Do you see me fretting?"

Lancelot nodded and politely excused himself. _Of course he has no need to fret. What woman could possibly resist the charms of "King Arthur"! _Lancelot ventured outside to cool off; sat on the steps of the French embassy. His nerves were wrecked. He pulled his finest cigar from his lapel and searched frantically for a means to light it.

"Need one of these," Lancelot turned to find Percival all spruced up holding a box of matches.

"Thank you," Lancelot said as he stood and accepted the matches.

Lancelot cut the tip off the cigar, struck a match, and puffed hard a few times to light it.

Percival asked, "Are you alright?"

Lancelot allowed the bitter sweet smoke to circulate in his chest a moment. He exhaled with a refreshed look on his face. "I am now."

Percival joked with a grin, "You're not upset over that pretty blonde girl gazing across the courtyard at you?"

"What!" Lancelot's heart lept as he met her eyes. "I can't believe she came."

His happiness faded as he realized, "Percival she hasn't met with me in two months. What if she merely came to break things off in person?"

Percival smiled, "Somehow I doubt that but you won't know until you talk to her."

Lancelot put his cigar out on the bottom of his shoe with a twisting motion and walked over to her grinning impishly at the memory of how they started seeing each other….

Months ago at a gathering such as this one two American waiters gossiped about Morgause unaware that she knew French. The men wished they'd arrived at the party in time to hear her family announced but they were running late from their day job, and now they could only guess what noble family she belonged to.

The very tall one whispered with a chuckle, "She's way out of your league. I believe she's the daughter of an ambassador. And from what I hear she drinks, gambles, and fights with a sword harder than any man. She made it to twenty years of age without ever settling down and getting married."

"That's unheard of," The shorter man commented.

The tall one informed him, "She's impossible to capture like a unicorn; the untamable woman."

The shorter man assured the big tall man, "All women are capable of being captured. They simply must be broken. Watch and learn."

Morgause snickered. _Silly American men. _

"What's so funny?" Lamia asked while tending to her lady.

Morgause didn't bother to repeat the conversation. She assured Lamia it was nothing because those men were nothing to her.

Much later in the evening Morgause ditched her annoying maid and placed a bet at a blackjack table. She rolled her eyes as one of the American men who'd been gossiping about her approached. It was the handsome dark haired waiter with the piercing eyes. He was average height with a muscular build. He asked Morgause in English if the seat next to her was taken. She replied in English for him to have a seat if it suited him and told the dealer to hit her. The dealer flipped another card. Morgause's points were now at fifteen.

She turned to the waiter and questioned in perfect French, "Is this the part where you 'brake me' like a prize thoroughbred horse?"

"You speak French," The young man called out in shock and humiliation.

Morgause told him in a frustrated tone, "I'm the daughter of an ambassador. Why the hell wouldn't I speak French?"

The man sprung up from his seat. "Mademoiselle I'm so sorry. What I said in the hallway was stupid and arrogant. I'm positively mortified right now."

Morgause took a sip of her martini and placed another bet. She looked the young man over. _He's a dunce but at least he's good looking. _

As the young man turned to walk away Morgause ordered, "Give me a name and an age before I change my mind."

"Lancelot," The man informed her.

Morgause told the dealer once more to hit her and then questioned Lancelot with a skeptical glare. "How old are you junior? You don't look a day over fifteen to me."

He assured her, "I'm a grown man Mademoiselle."

"And how old is that," She demanded.

"Twenty-one, I swear." Lancelot informed her.

She smiled. _Just a year older than me, perfect._

Morgause settled up with the dealer and then asked Lancelot, "Can I interest you in a game of blackjack."

"We're already playing blackjack Mademoiselle," Lancelot announced with a confused expression.

Morgause smiled and slipped him a key with a room number embedded in it. Then she whispered in his ear, "A private game."

On the way to meet Morgause, Lancelot ran into the man he was gossiping with: his brother Percival.

Lancelot announced to Percival, "I knew the ruse would work like a charm."

Percival asked with utter confusion, "You knew she spoke French all along?"

Lancelot called out with a sly grin, "Of course I knew. She's the daughter of an ambassador. Why the hell wouldn't she speak French?"

Percival inquired, "But I don't get it. If you knew she could understand us then why would you choose to insult her?"

Lancelot laughed and went on to explain, "Compliments only work on women who aren't use to getting them. This girl, whom ever she may be, has political standing. She's extremely wealthy and beautiful beyond compare. Had I complimented her I would've merely been one of a hundred other men tonight to kiss her ass. By the end of the hour she would've forgotten my face, and I wouldn't have received a moment more of her time. By insulting her I insured that I would be the one man she remembered. I knew she would give me more of her time if only to give me a piece of her mind. And that's the point at which I groveled and kissed her ass."

"Bravo," An intrigued Percival announced.

Lancelot replied with a smile, "I didn't mean any of those ugly things I said. I just used them as a means of starting a conversation. Now if you'll pardon me, Milady awaits."

Lancelot met Morgause in her chamber. He took a seat at the table and she poured them both a glass of Scotch.

He announced as he shuffled the deck, "I found the cards but I can't seem to find the chips."

Morgause laughed as she walked over with the drinks. She sat across from Lancelot and gingerly placed her foot in his lap. He watched in stone silence as she hiked up her dress and slid her garter belt down her smooth porcelain thigh.

Morgause tossed the lacy white garter on the card table and informed Lancelot with a devilish grin, "I prefer to play for clothes."

Lancelot snapped out of his contemplation as they met one another on the courtyard in a warm embrace. He didn't have to enquire as to her decision. That was clear. She was wearing his ring. He swung her around with total happiness in his heart.

"I thought I'd never see you again Rose," He said after finally breaking their embrace.

She smiled up at him as she said, "I love you but there's something I have to do first. I must meet with Arthur."

"Rose," Lancelot called with hurt in his eyes. "It's been nearly two months since I saw you last. Can't we catch up for a bit before you leave to meet with Arthur?"

Morgause nodded. She had a lot to tell both Lancelot and Arthur. She might as well start with Lancelot. She followed him up the steps of the embassy and down the high ceilinged corridor to an empty chamber. She couldn't get a word out before his lips met hers and they melted into a passionate kiss. His tongue, still tangy from the wine he'd drunk a little smoky from his cigar, danced gracefully about her mouth. For so long she'd yearned for his incredible kiss ached to feel him inside of her, loving her thrusting deep within. He gently pulled her breasts over the low cut bodice. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Or maybe it was the fact that he was tipsy, but her supple mounds seemed even more full and luscious than he remembered them. He couldn't help but lower his mouth to take taste as her wanton moans purred in his ear. They wanted, needed, had to have each other. She stopped him, the cool air hitting her sensitive breasts further chilled by the moisture of his kissing and suckling.

"Now," She told him breathlessly as she cupped his solid stone erection over the pants.

He grinned undoing his belt allowing his pants to fall in a heap around his ankles as she kneeled on the lounge gripping the back of the elegant couch. He rolled her skirts up on her back placing a playful bit on her bare ass as he pulled her lacy white pantaloons down to her slightly spread knees. She shivered at the nibble and the feel of him running the blunted head of his erection up and down her slippery entrance, pouring kisses and bites on the sensitive skin of her neck as he did this until she could no longer stand it, until she dug her nails in his hip and pulled him forward.

"Shit," he groaned as he delved into her warmth. He hadn't had her in so long the mere entry nearly finished them both. He gave long hard strokes, his hand entangled in her silky blonde tresses as he yanked her head back to his craning his neck to slip his tongue into her waiting mouth as he fucked with vigor and pure lust. He knew how rough she liked it but he was still careful not to hurt her.

At last she broke their breathtaking kiss to moan one word, "Harder."

And he obliged her releasing her hair to tweak the nipple of her still exposed breast, his other hand reaching around her hip to rub her clit as he drummed away at her g-spot, until he was drenched in sweat and their passions overflowed in a simultaneous, "I love you," as they climaxed together.

She could feel him throbbing deep within, her soft interior walls bathed in his sweet warm nectar. She didn't mind that he'd spilled his seed inside. She was already pregnant and they were soon to elope anyway. _This night couldn't be more perfect. _Or so she thought until she met the hurt and broken eyes of Arthur Pendragon…


	15. The Night All Hell Broke Loose

The Night All Hell Broke Loose

"You're looking very snazzy," Gwen said as she helped Merlin pack his medical tools and remedies into his black bag.

He smiled modestly and brushed off the complement, "There's some huge shindig in the mansion. I promised Gaius I would officially introduce myself to Arthur. I've been putting it off for months and the man does pay me." Merlin rolled his big blue eyes with an exasperated breath. Then he smiled at Gwen, "Thanks for covering the infirmary tonight."

"Of course," She smiled pleasantly. _It's now or never._

Gwen threw her arms around Merlin's neck and placed her soft lips upon his. Merlin gently pulled her hands away and backed out of the kiss she'd been dying to give him since the moment they met on the slave ship; the moment he saved her life and convinced her that everything would be alright. But had she been… rejected? How could he not feel the same?

Gwen's eyes filled with hurt, "I'm sorry. It's just… I've never seen you with a woman and…"

Merlin gave her a sympathetic look and took her hand, "That's because I have a very complicated relationship. I don't wear a ring to avoid questions from people because as fate would have it I rarely get to see my wife; but she is still my wife. I'm so sorry if I led you on in any way Gwen. It was not my intention."

"I was a fool to ever believe I'd find love in such a terrible place," Gwen cried. "I suppose I should be thanking you, we would've merely been breeding slave labor anyhow."

"Gwen wait," Merlin called after his friend as she fled the infirmary with tears pouring down her face. Merlin sighed deeply as he plopped down on the bunk. _Morgana prophesized to Gaius that the fate of the union and the freedom of the slaves rest on Gwen and Arthur's love, but why would Gwen not find other men to her liking when Arthur is such a prat? How will she ever grow to love a man she hates, a man who owns her? Morgana is wrong. Gaius is wrong. There has to be a different Arthur. This Arthur's an idiot… _

xXx

_Love is a Choice_

Arthur and Lancelot had given each other a few lumps earlier. Arthur was trying to kill Lancelot while the oblivious overseer was trying to defend himself. Morgause was screaming for them to stop as they knocked each other about. Toppling the furniture and sending paintings and vases crashing to the floor. She used magic to pry the ferocious men away from each other. Holding them both in the air until they calmed down. Lancelot told her to never speak to him again and stormed away. Now it was just her and Arthur in the ransacked chamber.

"Love is a choice Morgause!" Arthur yelled. "It isn't some magical disease that infects you! You never gave us a chance."

Morgause turned the lounge back upright and slumped down on it, "I'm so sorry Arthur."

"Not as sorry as I am," He growled and stormed away.

She cried into her hands feeling as empty and destroyed as the parlor he left her in. _After Lamia told my father about my courtship with the overseer Father lined up over a dozen boys and girls from his fields and threatened to lynch them all if I didn't seduce Arthur. And when Arthur proposed in front of both of our families I had no choice but to say yes…_

xXx

_The Peculiar Aristocrat_

Percival's heart pounded as he waited for Morgana to enter the grand ballroom. He didn't know how to dance and this made him incredibly nervous but Arthur assured him that Morgana Pendragon was the kind of woman who would certainly have no problem taking the lead. At last she appeared but she didn't walk in like everyone else. She floated into the party with phenomenal grace and poise and she was astonishingly beautiful, tall for a girl with milky white skin curtained by a cascade of lustrous raven tresses. Her lips were luscious full and the red of strawberries, and yet it was the soft emerald of her eyes that ceased his breath. She possessed the eyes of a lush green meadow, a beautiful escape that seemed to go on forever.

Percival forced down the lump in his throat and approached the lovely girl placing a corsage around her wrist. She took his arm with an angelic smile and thanked him in her lovely southern belle accent. Percival guided his maiden to the center of the floor, and they began to waltz to the elegant symphony music. Percival nearly froze as he took notice of the two hundred pairs of eyes fixed on them.

"It's alright," Morgana whispered. "Arthur informed me that I'll have to lead."

He glanced down at the beauty he was dancing with and gazed into her gorgeous green eyes. He was lost in them, lost in her. They never spoke another word the enter time they floated over the ballroom floor. They didn't need to. It was as if their very hearts beat as one. Morgana dreaded the end of the song. Though he was her official date she was still required to dance with others. The crowd cheered as Percival and his damsel took their bow hand in hand. He pulled her back into him and leaned forward to utter a few words at last. His lips grazed her ear and she shivered a little.

His deep and mesmerizing voice whispered, "Thank you for the dance."

She smiled and whispered back to him, "Je vous en prie"; a welcome in French for she could tell his accent was creole, the accent of the slaves. _What a very peculiar aristocrat. How can a man be born to privilege and not have been taught to dance?_

Her soft black hair gingerly brushed his cheek. It smelled of sweet jasmine and Percival swooned._ Her voice is like honey to my ears. _He watched her beautiful mouth, silently begging for more velvety words.

"I owe Valiant the next two songs but I'll be back," She promised smiling up at the big strapping boy, his handsome face smiling down into hers. And with a nod from him Morgana disappeared into the sea of guests at the Pendragon Ball.

When the symphony proceeded couples glided over the floor, like nymphs on a frozen pond. Each step and twirl was smooth, fluid, and graceful. Unfortunately for Morgana her next dance fell to her retched ex. She cut him a look that said don't even bother.

"Soooo how have you been," He spoke to her breasts.

Morgana huffed. _He's still like a dog in heat._ "You haven't changed at all."

Valiant gave her a slow intense look up and down, "Can't say the same about you."

"Are you flirting with me," Morgana snapped.

Valiant smirked, "Is that a problem?"

"Not at all," Morgana replied smoothly. "I'm a big girl now. I can take anything you dish out. I'm not the same love-struck kid you cheated on."

"So I banged a few maids. What man hasn't? Especially when his girl is intent upon waiting until marriage," He replied with a smug grin, "Are you still mad at me?"

"To be mad would imply that I feel anything at all. I nothing you," Morgana answered as he twirled her around.

Valiant abandoned his feeble attempt at an apology as they carried on with their dance. Perhaps he would get somewhere with flattery, "I think you are positively ravishing."

"Me and everyone else with a pulse and a warm wet hole," Morgana replied without once ruffling her graceful demeanor. "I'm sure when you agreed to marry me for my uncle's money you assumed I would make things easy for you." He spun her with a shocked expression on his face and she continued in her thick southern accent. "I don't like you Mr. Valiant. You are a misogynist. The only thing I hate more than a misogynist is a philandering misogynist like you. Now Uncle Uther may have his mind set on this match. But that doesn't mean I have to like it."

Valiant gracefully dipped Morgana wanting so badly to drop her on the floor, but he copped an inconspicuous feel of her ass instead, "I hope you bring all that fight to the bedroom. I care not what you like but you will bear my sons."

"Over my dead body," Morgana whispered through smiling lips as they rose. "And I will break your arm if you ever touch me like that again."

He scoffed at her threat and they took a bow at the end of the dance; applause roared from the crowd. Valiant breathed a sigh of relief when Morgana embraced him at last. _I knew I could bend her to my will._ He embraced her back. Her arms felt so good, her kiss upon his cheek even better; until he realized her affection was merely a crowd pleasing ruse.

Percival grit his teeth from the sideline. _Is Uther in a comma?! That Valiant bastard just grabbed Morgana's ass! _

Percival, neither knowing nor caring about proper dance etiquette, saw Morgana in distress and stormed the battlefront. Percival walked right up and threw an arm around her casting an _I dare you to say something _look at Valiant. A grateful Morgana made her exit as soon as she was able without so much as a glance back.

Now alone and robbed of his second dance Valiant watched Morgana disappear positively fuming. _He didn't even ask to cut in! I am going to destroy that rude bastard! _

As Valiant left to brood and tattle like a toddler Morgana and Percival made their way off the floor.

Morgana whispered to Percival. "Nice move, walking up putting your arm around me. Were you trying to make him kill you?"

Percival smirked. "I'd like to see him try."

They circled the ball taking a leisurely stroll, slowly and collectively weaving around busy servants, affectionate couples, gossiping ladies, and ambitious businessmen.

Percival took two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. Passing one of the flutes to Morgana he confessed, "I find the very idea of a coming out party quite demeaning. What do you like to do when you're not being paraded like a prized heifer?"

Morgana laughed, "I like to study old religions and lost civilizations. I collect and curate artifacts."

"Archeology," Percival said with an intrigued smile. He stopped before a craps table and placed a bet. He called an order to the dealer in French then went on to say, "So you're a woman of science."

"Shhh, you're never supposed to say the words woman and science in the same sentence," Morgana joked placing a bet. "It's blasphemy."

Percival smiled and took a sip from his glass, "What does your friend Valiant think of your unconventional interests?"

Morgana laughed and took a sip of her champagne, "He feels a woman's place is in the home and not in the lab. Valiant sees no need for a woman to receive a college education. He's worse than my Uncle Uther."

Percival finished his champagne and passed the glass and a tip to the waiter, "That's a shame. We as men do the same thing to women that we do to black people. Keep you uneducated because knowledge is power. And without power we can keep you in your place. It's quite a tragedy really."

Morgana was completely awestruck by the passionate words of this gentle giant. She picked her jaw up off the floor, "Are you saying that you would be alright with your wife being a scientist?"

Percival chuckled, "She could blow up the house every other month if that's what made her happy."

They both looked up as the song changed, a simultaneous, "damn" escaping their lips.

He bent forward to place a kiss upon her knuckles. "I'll be waiting." He assured her.

She smiled sweetly and disappeared. All of Morgana's obligatory dances went the same. Her suitors were only interested in three things: sex, sons, and a heft dowry. They asked questions about her but she could tell they weren't listening to a word she had to say. They liked their women silent. And what sort of unruly woman actually tried to go to college?! What kind of inappropriate damsel yearned to work outside the home?!This Pendragon girl would be a handful until they put her in her place.

Morgana dodged her last dance partner and all but ran into the arms of her peculiar aristocrat who actually listened to what she said and truly cared about her interests.

"Please get me out of here," She begged Percival with a smile.

"I thought you'd never ask," He took her by the hand and dashed out a door only used by servants.

They found themselves in the high hedged gardens of the French embassy. The pleasant scent of lilacs and jasmine enveloped them. She picked up her heavy skirts and ran ecstatically through the vast labyrinth of trees and flowers and shrubbery as Percival chased her lovely fleeing form, like two nymphs in the garden of paradise. Her shoes slipped from her feet and she left them abandoned; they'd been killing her feet all night, another thing in her life putting restrictions on her and she yearned to be free in this moment free with him. He ceased looking around, having lost sight of her, and then smiled and laughed as she peeked around a hedge beckoning to him before running off again. At last he caught her. She stood wrapped in Percival's big strong arms, her bosom heaving from their joyful frolic. He yearned to kiss her so badly but he could never have a girl like this. Morgana was forbidden fruit. He released her from his embrace. A look of disappointment darkened her lovely green eyes. They strolled slowly through the moonlit garden hand in hand.

Morgana, not being one to bite her tongue, said "You're the only man other than Arthur who actually cares about something other than sex. Why is it you care what I think?"

"Because I've had plenty of sex," He confessed. "What I've always lacked is love."

"If love was what you truly wanted why did you settle for meaningless sex," She questioned.

_Because I was born an octoroon slave and they love to breed the big strapping boys like me. _He sighed, "I didn't have a choice in the matter."

_He must have been molested, _"I'm sorry." She said with a sympathetic look.

He shrugged, "It's in the past now."

Morgana turned to him, gazing up into twinkle blue eyes his short straw colored hair appearing lustrous in the light of the moon. She smiled and placed her hand upon his cheek and before she realized it her hands were at the back of his neck stroking the silken hairs that lay there. By the time she noticed, it was too late to stop. His fingers were already kneading the small of her back as he leaned in to place a soft kiss upon her forehead. What would've been an innocent embrace from anyone else put her every sense in a frenzy, stirring up a whirlwind of feelings unlike anything she'd ever felt. He gazed down at the girl who'd grown into such a beautiful woman. She stole his very breath.

"You shouldn't do that again," Morgana said breathing heavier than intended.

"What this?" Percival questioned as he pulled her closer to place his soft warm lips on her cheek but she turned her head to meet his lips.

The sensation that filled them was undeniable magnetic as he slid his tongue into her mouth dancing gracefully. The garden disappeared and she found herself naked lying at his mercy as his rippling naked form climbed atop her, spreading her thighs with his hips, placing his erection at her threshold. He smiled down at her bringing her hand to his lips to kiss the simple wedding band on her finger, still unable to believe she was his. They would have to be quiet tonight in order not to wake their babies.

She gasped as he thrust himself inside spilling kisses all over her neck and bosom. Her fingers digging into the muscular canvas of his back as he made sweet and passionate love to her, she wrapped her legs around his strong penetrating form taking all of him deep within. His strokes were deeper faster as passion mounted, her soft wanton moans spurring him on until she called out his name and his seed shot forth warm and sweet inside her body.

Morgan opened her eyes in the garden convulsing and cumming harder than she ever knew possible. Neither could speak and nobody wanted to. How could such an innocent kiss ignite such a passion in the two of them? Was she truly meant to be with Valiant, or was she just use to him? At the moment she didn't know. How could a simple caress make her question a three year relationship? Of only two things she was certain. First she felt a want, a need, a yearning for Percival unlike any other. Second this scared her more than anything.

She broke their embrace. "I'm sorry."

"No I'm sorry. You said I shouldn't. I was completely out of line. Forgive me." He implored her.

She nodded and backed away feeling a little light headed. _Had I been holding my breath?_

"Morgana!"

The two of them looked up to find a furious Uther Pendragon. Uther stomped over and shoved her shoes at her. She donned the painful shoes with a sigh. Her freedom had ended.

"You ditched your suitors!" Uther bellowed. "Do you realize how rude you've been?"

"There's no need to fret," Morgana told her furious Uncle with a smile. She took Percival's hand as she said. "I know who I want to be with."

The anger melted from Uther's face. He nearly leapt for joy, "Are you getting back together with Valiant?"

"No," Morgana said. "I choose Percival."

Morgana looked on with confusion as Uther laughed hysterically, "Percival was just a last minute stand in Morgana. He's poor unsuitable for marriage."

Percival looked down at the ground, "I'm sorry milady. I thought Arthur told you."

Uther, still chuckling at the very idea of such a union, turned to Percival and said, "No offense lad."

Morgana was speechless tears welling up in her big green eyes as Uther informed her, "You are never to see him again..."

xXx

Back in the ballroom Lord Olaf enjoyed a cigar and a glass of scotch with his fellow dignitaries. A cloud of smoke surrounding the powerful men as they shared battle stories and told jokes at one another's expense. They exchanged handshakes and slaps on the back.

"You always manage to bring the youngest and most beautiful women to these events," An older gentleman stated.

Olaf gave a confident shrug and a smirk, "What can I say women can't resist me."

"And if they do you kill them right."

A confused Olaf turned around to catch a swift and brutal fist to the face. The pompous men and woman gasped and parted way as Olaf looked up at Gwaine from the floor, blood pouring from the nobleman's broken nose.

Gwaine twirled a tiny piece of jewelry between his fingers with a deranged look in his eye, "Forget something? My aunt had petecia hemorrhaging at her eyes a trait common with asphyxiation. You murdered her."

Lord Olaf coughed out painfully, "I can explain."

"Explain what!" Gwaine bellowed as he snatched Lord Olaf up by the collar. "The bruises on the inside of her thighs from you forcing her legs apart with your knees?! The finger marks around her throat?!"

Lord Olaf cried as Gwaine cuffed him, "She's below my station. She had no right to say no. But I didn't mean to kill her I swear I didn't. I loved her."

Gwaine shook his head. _The worst part is the sick bastard honestly believes his own bullshit._ Gwaine informed him dutifully as he lead the cuffed man outside by his arm, "Lord Olaf you are under arrest for the rape and murder of Coleen Annis…"

**Thanks for reading chapter 15 :^)**


	16. A Gift for Someone Special

A Gift for Someone Special

The guests poured out into the courtyard as Gwaine led his prisoner out.

"Uther!" Lord Olaf called to his friend for help.

Uther bellowed, "Gwaine you already know he has diplomatic immunity!"

Gwaine stopped in his tracks. An arrogant smirk lit Lord Olaf's face.

Gwaine explained to his superior, "Under extreme circumstances you as magistrate can petition his country of origin for removal of that immunity. And I would call rape and murder some pretty extreme circumstances."

"What proof do you have," Uther demanded, not wanting to make waves with the British government over a poor Irish woman.

"The bruise patterns on my aunt's body and I found this scoundrel's cufflink in her bed sheets," Gwaine snapped. "No wonder he was in such a hurry to put her in the ground!"

Uther replied in a calm manner, "He's a British Lord. One of his cufflinks is worth a small fortune. Who's to say she didn't steal it? Not to mention immigrant women often… befriend several men who… help them out in their circumstances. How do you know one of her lover's didn't kill her?"

Fire rose from Gwaine's feet and burned clear up through his body threatening to burst forth from his eyes. His nostrils flared. The veins on his neck popped out, "You arrogant racist son of a bitch! Being poor and Irish does not make my aunt a thief and a whore! She was a pious woman who didn't have lovers; so pious it infuriated her when I had lovers because she raised me better! And Olaf admitted to forcing himself on her!"

Olaf stood there quietly with a smug grin on his face as Uther told his deputies to restrain Gwaine and un cuff the nobleman. As Gwaine fought and struggled Cenred and Tristan appeared.

Cenred bellowed, "Release Gwaine! This embassy is as good as French soil! None of you have jurisdiction here!"

The deputies obeyed the count at once. Cenred walked over to Lord Olaf and growled, "I wish my son had left you in that goddamned wall! Men like you who believe you can just take whatever you want are the reason my mulatto half sister is dead!"

"That may be so," Olaf scoffed at his old friend. "But I still have diplomatic immunity."

Cenred smirked, "You are their diplomat, not mine." Cenred turned to the French guards "Throw him in the brig!"

Olaf pleaded and tried to reason with the count as the large imposing men drug him away. Gwaine breathed a sigh of relief unable to believe a nobleman stood up for the justice of a poor Irish woman, and Cenred no less! The death of the count's sister had shaken something in him.

Uther walked over, "You're forgetting one thing Count Cenred. The crime was committed on American soil not at the embassy. And America has an extradition treaty with France."

Cenred sighed with a hand over his face, he'd forgotten about that. Uther laughed, "I'll be taking the prisoner now."

"Not so fast," Cenred snarled. "Extradition is still a process that takes months. The son of a bitch can enjoy the accommodations of my dungeons until you get a warrant Magistrate Pendragon."

As Cenred stomped off Tristan asked, "You're not really going to let Olaf go are you Father?"

"Please you can't let him go," Gwaine pleaded with the count.

Cenred informed the boys regretfully, "I'll do all I can but I may not have a choice. It's up to Uther to prosecute him."

Gwaine nodded with a distraught look, "Thank you for trying. That's more than what I can say for that soulless piece of shit Pendragon."

Arthur ran up and pushed Gwaine forcefully in the chest, "That's my father you're talking about!"

Gwaine shoved Arthur back, "You're no better than he is! You back his every folly! You condone every wicked thing he does!"

Tristan and Cenred got between the two men to keep them from punching each other's lights out. Gwaine yearned to strangle a Pendragon and didn't care which one at the moment.

Uther charged over, "Gwaine I told you that if you ever arrested another diplomat I'd have your job! You are here by BANISHED from the state of Louisiana!"

Gwaine reared back and brought his right fist across the left side of Uther's face so hard he went hurtling to the ground. Arthur gasped and dropped to his knees at his unconscious father's side. But Arthur could tell by the nauseating crack and the awkward tilt of his father's mouth that Uther's jaw was badly broken.

As Gwaine grimaced in pain holding the hand he'd broken on Uther's face he growled at Arthur through clenched teeth, "I'll be back when New Orleans get's itself a decent magistrate."

As Gwaine stormed away Tristan ran up to him, "Lady Vivian begs that you see her tonight. She's at the country manner. I believe her father was keeping you two apart."

"Of course," Gwaine said smiling in spite of the intense pain. _She loves me! _"I just have to find Merlin or Gaius to fix my hand first."

"Did it hurt," Tristan chuckled a little.

"Like nothing I've ever felt before," Gwaine admitted with a painful laugh. "But it was worth it."

Tristan returned to find his stepfather with a morose look on his face. Tristan assured the count, "You tried your best to get justice for her. Gwaine knows that."

"It isn't just that," Cenred confessed. "It wasn't just Cedric that murdered my sister. I'm just as responsible."

"No you mustn't blame yourself," Tristan said.

"I was born to privilege yet I never had enough," Cenred admitted. "Your mother and I were greedy. Katrina convinced me to start a tobacco plantation. The system of inequality I took advantage of to make me even richer, was the very system that allowed for a white man to brutally rape and dismember my sister. After this season's harvest I'm out. The slaves can either stay and work for wages or move north but I'm done owning people. Katrina will not like all the money we'll lose when I set the people free and in the very likely event that your mother divorces me I just wanted you to know you'll always be my son."

xXx

_The Midnight Swim_

Arthur moved his arms in a wide circular motion as he floated across the surface of the lake on his back, the stars and moon stretched majestically above as he took his midnight swim in just a pair of pants. The soft hoot of an owl, subtle croaking of frogs and the sweet chirp of the crickets formed a pleasant symphony as he melted into one with the cool waves. During nights where he was the most troubled or faced a major decision he turned to the lake to wash away his troubles and gain some perspective on his life. And right now he needed a lot of perspective. His fiancée cheated on him and to make matters worse he was washing away his own sins. _Father was wrong for the way he treated Gwaine and disrespected the memory of the marshal's dearly departed Aunt. But how could I not back my father? Doesn't the bible say to honor thy mother and father? Sometimes it feels as if being a good Catholic is making me a bad person. I don't know what to do. .._

"Mathew?"

Arthur bobbed upright to find a familiar face upon the dock. "Mary!"Arthur exclaimed as he kicked and paddled his way over. Arthur heaved his wet body onto the dock. "It's nearly midnight. What are you doing out here?"

She screeched as he gave her a cold soggy hug, "One could ask you the same thing." She brooded crossing her arms over her chest.

Arthur laughed at the disgruntled pregnant girl. "But seriously why are you up?"

Arthur helped her down on the docks and they sat together kicking their feet in the water.

Mary confessed with a worried expression, "I'm scared to have this baby. What if the pain is excruciating? What if I can't handle it? I've never done this before."

Arthur smiled, "Somehow I find it hard to believe that a woman who'd run into a burning structure would be afraid of anything."

Mary snickered a little at Arthur's reassurance. Arthur placed his cool wet hand upon hers and asked, "If you're not afraid of death then why be afraid of life?"

"I never thought of it that way," Mary smiled baring the deep dimples in her round cheeks. "Thank you Mathew."

"Besides I can't wait until you have this baby. You look weird pregnant," Arthur jested. "You're so long and tall with such a big belly you look like a rope with a knot tide in it."

Arthur screamed as she shoved him off the dock.

"You're a jerk Mathew!" Mary shouted between giggles.

Arthur grabbed her foot. She screamed as he snatched her in with him. As she clung to his shoulders she heaved, "I don't swim that well."

He assured her, "Just hold onto my shoulder and I'll wrap my hand around where your waist used to be."

"You're an ass," She exclaimed playfully as he towed her over to the dock. He helped her up on the wooden planks and then dragged himself out behind her.

Her hair slipped from its ponytail and fell to her shoulders in a million tiny springs. She wrung out her soggy curls, "Mathew would you mind walking me home. I know it doesn't seem like I'd be on anyone's fantasy list but pregnant women are a favorite target of overseers."

Arthur's jaw hit the dock, "What kind of man would rape a pregnant woman?!"

"Not man, men," Mary emphasized the plural. "A woman with child is far less likely to fight. In order to prevent injuries to her unborn child she'll give her attacker what he wants without struggle."

Arthur felt nauseous. His head was spinning, "I'll walk you home."

"Guinevere's staying with me for now," Mary informed him with a knowing smirk. "Would you like to say hello?"

"No, I just broke up with my fiancée," Arthur sadly admitted. "I wouldn't be good company."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Mary said, her eyes wrought with sincerity. "What happened if you don't mind me asking?"

"She was unfaithful," Arthur confessed. "I keep asking myself why? What did I do wrong? What makes me so unworthy of being loved by anyone?"

"Perhaps you're not meant to be loved by just anyone," Mary said as they walked. "But you are more than worthy."

Mary Froze as an overseer called to her, "Need me to escort you home little lady?"

The lust in the man's eyes and the tone of his voice told Arthur he was not being a good Samaritan. Arthur closed the distance between him and Mary and took her hand interlacing his fingers with hers.

Arthur's eyes narrowed on the large burly man, "Thank you Sir but I've got it."

The man's eyes grew large as he recognized his employer. The overseer tipped his hat to them and sat back on his porch, "Just trying to be a gentleman."

"I bet you were," Arthur snarled.

"I told you. They stalk the night like vultures," Mary laughed.

Arthur gave her a look of amazement. _She might have been raped and she's in good spirits about it! How often does this occur?! Calm down Arthur. Maybe he did merely want to walk her home. I'm not a mind reader._

Arthur took a deep breath at last releasing Mary's hand from his cast iron grip as he returned to their conversation. "In all honesty I'm not even that angry with my ex lover because my heart longed for another girl anyhow."

"I knew it," Mary exclaimed. "I implore you to just talk to Guinevere. She's a wonderful person."

"I'm certain she is but it's complicated," Arthur said. "Mary if you knew you'd found your soul mate but there was one thing you knew would stand in the way of that person getting to know the true you, the heart of you, would you lie about that one thing?"

"I'm not a good person to ask."

"Why?"

"Because I lied," Mary said. "I mean I would lie."

"No you just said you _lied_ past tense," Arthur said with a devilish grin pointing an accusing finger at her. "Out with it."

Mary buried her embarrassed face in her hands, "When I met Aglain I'd only seen fourteen winters, but I'd heard about his _no young women _policy. I was tall for my age and I could tell he was interested and all the boys my age were childish morons."

"How old did you tell him you were," An intrigued Arthur pressed.

"I knew it was wrong but I also knew Aglain would never be able to see past my age," Mary explained. "I took one look at that handsome older man and nineteen summers flew out of my mouth before I could catch my lying tongue."

Arthur laughed, "Did you get caught?"

"Eventually," She shrugged. "And things were bad between us for a while. But now we both agree that we would rather things be bad between us momentarily, than nothing between us forever. We're here." Mary said as she approached her cabin.

Arthur nodded with a smile, "Thank you."

"I hope I helped young Master Pendragon," She whispered with a smirk.

Arthur gasped, "But how…"

"My husband works in the house remember," She shook her head with amusement brandishing her angelic dimples once more. "Aglain told me this morning that when Master Pendragon is at his most furious with his son he calls the boy by all three names: Arthur _Mathew _Pendragon." She shrugged nonchalantly. "You didn't lie about your name; you just didn't give me the whole thing."

Arthur chuckled, "You've known since this morning that I am your master and you would still shove me in a lake."

"Just treating you how you wanted to be treated. And you've been passing yourself off as a slave and a friend," She grinned devilishly.

"Alright I lied about the slave status but the friend part was true," Arthur said seriously. "Please don't tell Guinevere."

"Of course not," Mary looked insulted by the mere implication that she would snitch. "Do I look like a house servant to you?! Field hands live by a code: camaraderie, loyalty, and friendship."

She stretched out her small fist. Arthur smiled and bumped it with his own, "Camaraderie, loyalty, and friendship."

She laughed as he tinked his fist with her belly next. She assured Arthur as she massaged her baby into a more comfortable position, "I shouldn't look weird much longer."

He chuckled and kissed her cheek, "Thanks again Mary."

"Anytime," She assured him with a smile and walked inside.

Arthur sighed gazing at the door. _I'm less than twenty feet from Guinevere and cannot will myself to meet her. But someday I will, someday very soon. She is truly someone special..._

xXx

_The Mark of Lamia_

Vivian's tears blurred her sight as she hastily packed her belongings. _Madam Annis is dead? Father killed her? _None of it made sense until she recalled seeing similar bruises to the ones Gwaine described on the neck of her governess the morning she resigned. And the night before her slave maid ran away she said goodbye to Vivian and Morgause; again the same bruises. They could never keep female employees on the Olaf estate and now Vivian knew why. _My mother often wore dresses with high collars; most likely to hide such bruises. My mother ran away with Morgause and me a number of times but father always found us. And he eventually broke her. I was four when Mum killed herself. And now I've lost another mum due to his arrogance and brutality! But all is not lost. Tonight we leave. Gwaine, Morgause and I will be rid of this place and Father forever. And with Morgause around to help us we may not have to give up our baby._

Vivian heard a knock at the door. She quickly stashed her suitcases in the closet and went to answer it.

"Lamia," Vivian snarled.

Lamia narrowed her eyes at Vivian, "I just wanted you to know that I heard you tell Tristan to have Gwaine come by. Your father gave me the authority to have his guards shoot Gwaine on the spot."

Vivian couldn't breathe. She felt as if she'd been kicked in the chest by a horse. _Gwaine is great with a pistol but he's far out-gunned!_

"Lamia wait!" Vivian cried. She chased the snitch down the hall. "Don't give those orders! I beg you!" Vivian chased the girl down the stairs, up the main corridor.

At last Lamia ceased before a parlor, "Then tell me do your loyalties lie with Lord Olaf or Gwaine."

Vivian heaved to catch her breath thinking fast. _I better explain things in whore terms or it may get lost in translation with Lamia, _"I don't love Gwaine and I never gave a shit about his aunt. She probably led my father on. You know what Irish women are like."

"Why did you ask Gwaine to come here," Lamia questioned raising a skeptical brow at Vivian.

"Because he pleases me in bed," Vivian said. "I use him for sex, nothing more. That's why I never gave him an answer to his proposal."

"Ah you're stringing him along," Lamia said no longer concerned about Vivian's loyalties.

_I knew she spoke slut fluently. _Vivian cheered on the inside, "Yes that's it. I never loved him and I will never ever marry him. He's beneath me."

Vivian turned at a noise coming from inside the parlor. She pushed passed Lamia and thrust open the door to find the wind blowing the drapes of an open window.

"Gwaine was in here wasn't he," A distraught Vivian asked.

Lamia pursed her lips, "Yep he heard every word you said."

Vivian coughed in disbelief, "Father never gave such an order to shoot Gwaine."

Lamia shook her head, "Though I advised him to have Gwaine shot, your father decided against it. Lord Olaf didn't want to make waves with the U.S. government by killing one of their marshals in cold blood. But he did tell me to get rid of Gwaine by any means necessary and you've done just that."

Vivian couldn't believe it. Gwaine was gone, gone forever. He'd just left her without a chance to plead her case. Abandoned her and her baby with nothing more than the cufflinks she'd given him as a symbol that he was gone forever. While her father's lap dog smiled ever pleased with herself, gloating about how stupid Vivian had been and how easy it was to deceive her.

Looking at the shimmering cufflinks of the man she loved abandoned on the coffee table along with the shattered fragments of her heart filled Vivian with a rage she never knew she was capable of. Before she could think straight she had a fist full of Lamia's dark hair and she was pelting her repeatedly with the other fist. Lamia screamed trying to pry off her ferocious attacker as Vivian punched and scratched and tore out her tresses.

Unable to get her off Lamia did the only thing she could to defend herself. The serpent used magic to conjure enough strength to send Vivian flying across the room. As the guards and Morgause ran in Vivian slid to the ground with blood pouring from her head and a badly busted arm. White bone pierced through torn and bloody flesh. Morgause ran to her sister's aide as Vivian convulsed and seized on the floor.

"Get a doctor!" Morgause screamed.

Two guards took off at once.

Morgause knew the Cup of Life would kill her sister's baby. The magical artifact was designed to ward off anything weakening the body whether it be an injury, illness, or a fetus. But Vivian was so badly hurt; her skull fractured, blood pooling around her body.

Morgause covered her mouth with a trembling hand as tears ran down her porcelain cheeks. _Even if a doctor saves her will Vivian end up a babbling buffoon without her wits? I don't want to use the Cup of Life but I mightn't have a choice._

As big sis struggled with the decision of her sister's care Lamia climbed out the window and made a run for it. The snitch was fully aware that Lord Olaf wasn't around to stop Morgause from killing her for what she'd just done.

Morgause's face darkened with a bitter scowl at the sight of Lamia's fleeing figure. The very core of Morgause became so fiery hot her tears fizzled and dried up on her face, leaving her cheeks stained with salty white streaks. _I will gut that serpent if it's the last thing I do… _

xXx

_A Gift for Someone Special_

"Thank you Morgana!" Arthur exclaimed giving his cousin a huge bear hug and kissing her on the cheek.

"Put me down Arthur," Morgana laughed joyously that morning. "So do you think she will find it to her liking?"

Arthur peaked under the lid of the gift box, "Yes she's sure to love it. Thank you so much for picking this up. I'm terrible at shopping for gifts, especially when it comes to things like this."

"It takes a woman's touch." Morgana smiled brightly, "Well are you going to introduce me to this special girl?"

"Not today," Arthur said. He was going to meet a slave girl and he wasn't sure his cousin would understand.

Morgana advised him with a chuckle, "Well you should probably put on something nicer. For heaven's sake Arthur you look a pauper."

Arthur nodded and hurried out the door but he didn't change into something nice. Today he needed to be Mathew. Box tucked firmly beneath one arm and a bouquet of flowers in the other, he hurried from the mansion. _I don't even know if she likes flowers. But I hope she does. I picked them myself. _He was through the orchard and in the commons in a matter of minutes.

An overseer approached with a smile, "What's that?"

"Just a gift for someone special," Arthur chimed without slowing his stride.

Arthur saw a dark haired white man leaving the infirmary who he could only guess was the doctor. Arthur called to him cheerfully, "I heard my friend Mary had her baby! Where is she?"

"She's inside," The man said.

Arthur opened the door quietly whispering to the girl, "I said I'd be back with a gift for your child my brave little friend. Its not every day you meet a woman who'll run into an inferno to save a friend, and a pregnant woman no less."

Arthur's jaw dropped. The gift fell from his hands. All of the baby clothes tumbled onto the floor and soon the flowers followed at the sight of nothing but a woman's arm sticking out from underneath a blood stained sheet. As a hurt, stunned, and horrified Arthur stood frozen he heard the door creak behind him.

"She dead Arthur," Percival said. "One of your overseer's sent her back to the field just two days after giving birth, swearing that black women are more a kind to animals and don't need as much time to recover. Mary dropped like an anchor and there was nothing Dr. Emrys could do to save her."

Lancelot passed Arthur two folded papers and informed him, "These are our letters of resignation. We can no longer work for you while you sit in your ivory tower turning a blind eye to such cruelty. This hapless girl couldn't have been more than seventeen."

Arthur accepted the papers with a trembling hand, "Please… Please don't quit. Take some time off if you're burnt out. Do a bit of traveling but please don't quit."

Percival informed Arthur, "Lancelot has an aunt in Spain who's willing to take us in. We only stayed in the U.S. this long in hopes of one day reuniting with our lost sister. Now that Tristan has found her we're gone."

"Lancelot," Arthur cried. "How long have we been friends? Can you not think of one reason to stay?"

At that moment Lancelot saw Gwen walk past the infirmary, her eyes red and puffy due to her friend's sudden death. Gwen was coming to wash the body and dress it before Mary's husband saw her but Gwen ceased as she saw the men in the infirmary. She would return when they were gone. Lancelot sighed shaking his head. _If I leave forever who will protect Gwen from the lecherous overseers? Arthur has already proven himself useless._

"We are taking our sister to Spain," Lancelot said firmly. "I'll only return under the condition that you spend some time working your own fields and improve the lives of these people."

"Same here," Percival said with his arms crossed firmly over his broad chest. _I can't leave the Lady Morgana at the mercy of a misogynist like Uther and Arthur has already proven himself useless. _

"Agreed," Arthur submitted with tears in his eyes. "Has anyone told Aglain his wife is… is… gone?"

"Since it's your fault you get to tell him he'll be raising his daughter alone," Lancelot growled and stomped out the door. Percival stormed out behind his brother.

Arthur fell to his knees at Mary's bedside and took her hand in his. Her hand seemed so small compared to his and it was still warm, soft accept for the calluses from working in the fields. She hadn't been dead very long. He pulled the sheet down from her face. She looked like she was sleeping but he knew that she wasn't. _You'll never again wake up because of me!_ He brought their joined hands to his lips and placed a kiss upon her knuckles. He gingerly brushed the sweaty curls from her lifeless face, still so full of youth and beauty. _My sweet little friend I'm so sorry…_

xXx

_The Riverboat_

A pleasant wind whipped Gwaine's dark locks across his ruggedly handsome face as he stood at the front of the riverboat. He was saying goodbye to New Orleans forever goodbye to that soulless temptress that used him, broke his heart into a million shards, and said those horrible things about his deceased aunt. He held the rail with his good hand and wiped his tears with the bandaged fist. _How could I have ever allowed myself to be so easily fooled? For years I was obsessed with cufflinks because I felt they represented a good and responsible man. But what kind of man wastes so much money on a mere object to fasten his sleeves when there are people homeless, children starving! It takes an arrogant selfish bastard to blow a fortune on cufflinks. Those jewels represent the class of people who literally get away with murder. I want nothing to do with them or her. Goodbye Vivian. Goodbye forever…_

**Thank you so much for reading :^)**

**-Embrasia-**


	17. Epilogue - The Beautiful Blaze

The Beautiful Blaze

_2 Years Later_

The day seemed far too beautiful for a funeral as Nurse Tubman gazed out the window of the Olaf Estate. She sat the wash bowl aside and began to dress Lord Olaf's body in the suit his daughters laid out for him.

Harriet shook her head and tissed at the dead man as she buttoned his shirt, "With all of Gwaine's brilliance, Arthur's bravery, and Morgause's awesome power who would have guessed Vivian would be the one to pump six bullets into you after a faceoff on a Civil War battlefield? Couldn't have happened to a nicer fellow."

"Thank you so much," Vivian said as she entered the room.

"It's no problem at all. He just needs his cufflinks and he'll be ready for the tomb," Nurse Tubman assured Vivian reaching out a hand for the items requested.

Vivian shook her head no, "He doesn't need his cufflinks as much as they do."

She was referring to all the penniless slaves forging north and west due to the Civil War bringing an end to slavery. Vivian gripped the expensive jewels, "I'm going to auction these off along with his other twenty-nine pair to compensate these people for their many loyal years of service."

Harriet Tubman nodded with a smile, "I suppose Lord Olaf is ready for the tomb then."

"He isn't going in one," Vivian said.

"My apologies," Harriet replied. "I assumed all aristocrats had a family tomb."

"Oh we do but he isn't going in it," Vivian informed her. "As oldest and heir of his estate Morgause refused to have our mother spend eternity in the presence of a man she killed herself to be rid of. Morgause insists that we burn him instead. So to the pyre he goes."

Harriet nodded, "To the pyre."

As they left the room Vivian asked, "Mrs. Tubman what will you do now that the war is over?"

The old nurse smirked, "I'll conduct the underground railroad."

Confusion fell over Vivian's face, "But the slaves are free."

"Yes but a very strong and intelligent young woman once informed me that slaves aren't the only ones who need to escape," The nurse said and Vivian smiled modestly in response to her compliments. "The underground railroad will continue in service of abused children and battered wives."

Vivian gave the abolitionist a respectful nod, "If you need anything at all Morgause and I would be happy to help."

xXx

_The Pyre_

As everyone gathered in the cemetery wearing black dresses and suits the priest asked Morgause, "As eldest and next of kin would you like to share a kind word for your father?"

Morgause peered at the corpse of the man who'd held her down and forced an abortifacient down her throat, "No I do not have a kind word, just a lot of very mean ones so I'll keep them to myself."

Lancelot gasped, "Milady."

Morgause shrugged as she walked over to her artist, "Would you rather I lie to a priest?"

"I suppose not," Lancelot said wrapping his strong arms around her as she rested her head upon his chest.

Morgause whispered, "Thank you for being here for me."

"Thank you for allowing me to be here for you," He replied. She smiled as he dropped a sweet kiss into her hair embracing her even tighter.

The priest turned to Vivian next and asked, "Would you like to share a kind word?"

"I wouldn't like to but I will," Vivian said stepping forward. She took her father's cold unmoving hand, "After all you put me through you would think that I'd despise you. But in the end I want to thank you because you made me that much stronger." She turned to Gwaine who was standing with two other men, all holding fiery torches. "That's all I have to say."

Gwaine nodded as he walked forward with the others and laid the torches at the base of the wooden platform. The pyre ignited, the soft popping and crackling of sticks filled the air as Vivian watched the beautiful blaze in Gwaine's arms; their heartache and strife blowing away with the ashes of their tormentor. Gwaine and Vivian had reunited while away at war. He was a Union soldier and she was the worst nurse Harriet Tubman had ever had the displeasure of working with, but Vivian found Gwaine. And now they were rid of Lord Olaf forever.

As people boarded their horses and stagecoaches and left the graveyard Gwaine approached Morgause and asked, "May I talked to you for a moment?"

Morgause told Lancelot, "I'll be right back."

Lancelot nodded and waited for his Rose in the stagecoach.

Gwaine pulled Morgause aside. He took a deep breath and said, "While away at war Vivian confessed to how your father had hurt you and made you lose your baby but I couldn't help feeling that there was more, that there was something she was holding back in front of the other soldiers."

Morgause took a deep breath, "Vivian was pregnant when you left her."

Gwaine's jaw dropped. He felt like a piece of shit, "That night in the stagecoach?"

She nodded solemnly, "Vivian was so shocked and hurt by your leaving she picked a fight with a girl she didn't know had magic. Vivian got hurt badly, mainly her arm. She needed surgery right away but Merlin and Gaius were busy operating on Uther's face. Someone had broken Uther's jaw that night. So I called on another doctor. Though Gaius and Merlin followed Joseph Lister's example of hand washing and sterile surgical techniques, most doctors find this sort of preparation to be a waste of time. The very idea that something invisible can live in your blood and be passed to the next person on a scalpel seemed farfetched to Vivian's surgeon."

"He didn't sterilize his tools," Gwaine said with a furious tone.

Morgause shook her head, "I don't believe so because Vivian caught an infection in her arm that was killing her and still she refused to drink from the Cup of Life because she knew it would kill your baby. She told Gaius to amputate her arm instead. Against Gaius' and my advice she put herself through the excruciating agony of an amputation but remained sick because the illness had already spread through her bloodstream. One night she was delirious with fever. I couldn't watch her die. I gave Vivian the Cup of Life and when she awakened with two arms she knew what I'd done. But she didn't hold resentment. She understood that I didn't have a choice."

"Thank you," Gwaine said with a distraught look. _I feel like such a bastard. Vivian might have died while I was away sulking. _

"It isn't your fault. You were blinded by grief and my father manipulated all of us," Morgause assured him as if reading his heavy thoughts. "Don't continue to let him rob you of your joy. Grab Vivian we're running late for the other fire."

xXx

_The Departed_

As Vivian and Gwaine locked pinkies vowing to never allow anything to come between them again the un resting Spirit of Madam Annis watched with joyful tears in her eyes. Gwaine's grief had been binding her to this place but now she could see he was going to be alright. She smiled wiping her tears.

"A normal woman would be sad at a funeral."

She whipped around to see the smiling face of her beloved husband Carleon, who'd given up wealth and privilege to marry an Irish lass and cared not that his parents disowned and disinherited him for it. She was his queen. He stood as stately as a king of old with a majestic light shining down on him. She lept into his arms and he swung her around.

She said with a gigantic grin, "Have I ever claimed to be a normal woman."

"I suppose not," He chuckled guiding her toward the light.

Madam Annis stammered, "But… but… what of Gwaine."

Her husband assured her, "Gwaine is destined for greatness. He had the best mother a boy could ever ask for. Gwaine feels your presence and he can never move on unless you do."

She smiled and caressed her husband's face at last ready to let this life go so they can move on to whatever came next. He kissed her lips with all the love that he possessed. There was a bright flash and they were gone.

xXx

_The Beautiful Blaze_

Alined, the owner of the House of the Rising Sun, had taken so many lashes he was delirious. Tristan lined each of the girls up and they took turns whipping their oppressor, the man who'd forced them to sell the most intimate part of themselves. Alined might have been beaten to death if not for the pleas of his jilted sister who'd been recently released from the asylum by the new magistrate, a fair and just man named Geoffrey Monmouth. Geoffrey had also ordered that Alined release all of Miranda's children before the war had even ended. The slave status of the mother depends on that of the child and since Miranda was white Alined had never lawfully owned Isolde and her siblings.

All attended the dethroning of the despot except for Icis, who was in Spain planning her wedding with the other bouncer, a lifelong friend of Merlin's named Will. Just as Tristan agreed to be broken in out of love for Isolde, Will had earlier agreed out of love for Icis. He just had to convince her she was worthy of love and her brothers helped him do that.

"Cut him down," Captain Leon ordered his soldier and cousin with a laugh.

Tristan grudgingly sawed the wrist restraints of the blood drenched man.

"Thank you Tristan… Thank you for your mercy," Alined babbled as he fell to the ground like a pile of chains.

Tristan knelt and grabbed him by the throat. As he choked and gagged for air Tristan growled, "If you ever come near Isolde or any of these women again I will beat you to death and you know I'm more than capable of doing it."

Tristan released Alined's throat and rose to find his disgruntled mother. Katrina pulled Tristan aside and snapped, "You returned the Christmas gifts I sent! You don't come home for Sunday dinners! And I'm not even going to ask why you brutally assaulted that poor man!"

Tristan replied, "I returned your gifts because you know Isolde and I cohabitate, and you did not send a gift for her. I do not come to Sunday dinners because the last time I did you blatantly disrespected my fiancée by inviting another girl to meet me! And I assaulted that 'poor man' because he is indeed the great Satan. I love you mother but there is a more important woman in my life now and we will be wed. You can either gain a daughter or lose a son. I don't particularly care which anymore."

Tears filled Katrina's eyes as Tristan walked over to Isolde and wrapped his arms around her. Katrina ran back to her husband Cenred crying, "How could he treat me this way?! I'm his mother."

Cenred replied sternly without a care for her weeping, "Whether you like it or not Isolde will be Tristan's wife. I implore you not to make me lose a son. Apologize Katrina."

She gasped but didn't protest. She could tell her husband was fed up with the drama.

A small dark-skinned girl named Onyx spoke up on behalf of the former employees of the House of the Rising Sun, "Tristan sir with all due respect we appreciate the symbolism but where will we live if you burn this place down?"

_Damn…_ Tristan sighed. He was in such a hurry to be rid of this retched hell hole that he hadn't even thought that far ahead, "We won't burn it."

Alined smiled despite his agony. He was ecstatic his legacy would survive. As soon as Tristan wasn't around Alined would fill the place with even more young prostitutes.

At that moment Katrina cleared her throat. Everyone's attention turned to her as she stood with Morgause and Vivian. Katrina said, "My husband and I have a rather large estate. Anyone needing work and accommodations please come and see us. Lady Morgause and Lady Vivian offered to provide work and housing as well."

"Shit," Alined grimaced before passing out from pain and blood loss.

The women cheered. A smile lit Tristan and Isolde's faces.

"My sincerest thanks milady," Isolde said with tears in her eyes.

Katrina nodded respectfully to her future daughter in law and though it was hard she swallowed her pride, "If you can find it in your heart to forgive me I would like to gain a daughter."

A shocked expression braced Katrina's face as Isolde hugged her tight and soon Tristan, Cenred, and Miranda all joined the embrace.

Percival kissed his wife Morgana's lips sweetly. She was just a few months pregnant with their baby. From the first time they kissed at her coming out party she saw herself married to him. And though Uther tried everything within his power to stop it, even Uther could not stand in the way of fate. Uther wasn't cold in the ground before Arthur gave Percival his cousin's hand in marriage.

"I love you so much," Percival whispered as he held his wife, delighted to have found true love at last. _Sex bears meaning with Morgana. It isn't a filthy act. It's a gift that's blessed us with a child. A child that won't be sold off to the highest bidder._

"I love you too Percival," Morgana smiled up at her husband vowing to never allow anything to stand in their way.

As the sky grew dusky and dark Tristan, Gwaine, Leon, Lancelot, Percival, and Merlin took up torches and ignited the House of the Rising Sun. Tears of joy and hugs of triumph floated throughout the crowd as the women watched their place of torment burn and with it the shackles of their oppression.

xXx

_The Slave & the Soldier_

Gwen had to miss the Beautiful Blaze as she tended to her husband, Arthur Pendragon. He was recovering from injuries received at the final Civil War battle. The sands of time had changed many things and the boy who was once proud to be the heir of his father's vast plantations was now married to a black woman. Mary's untimely and tragic death had opened Arthur's eyes to the uglier side of slavery and after befriending Merlin and falling in love with Gwen Arthur vowed to bring the injustices to an end. With the help of Merlin and his comrades Arthur Pendragon had done just that.

"I want to go to the fire," Arthur whined childishly. "How long must I stay in bed."

Gwen giggled and rested her head upon his bare chest as they nestled together between the plush covers, "You need at least six weeks to recover Arthur. Besides you should appreciate the amount of rest you're getting. We won't be getting much sleep once the baby gets here."

Arthur smiled at the thought of Gwen carrying his little Pendragon and before she knew it he was on top of her, his hips pinning hers to the bed as he looked down into her beautiful face and whispered, "There is still one thing I'm well enough to do."

"Art…"

Her protest was trapped in his passionate kiss. He grinned against her lips at the feel of her bare ass beneath her thin gown. She gripped his back as he poured kisses down her neck and sheathed himself in her warmth.

"I love you Arthur," She moaned as he thrusted between her thighs sending ripples of pleasure throughout her body.

"I love you Guinevere," He groaned lustfully without breaking his stride as they melted into one another in a paradise of love lust and satisfaction.

xXx

_The Necklace_

Bright orange flames lit a dark navy sky as folks gathered, drank, and danced to lively music. Amidst the celebration Gwaine asked with a grin, "Is it true that in order to help the people you're auctioning off every pair of cufflinks?"

Vivian smiled up at him, "Every pair but one."

He smiled brightly. His heart leapt as she pulled out his birthday present, "You kept them."

"Of course," She said as she gingerly fastened them to his sleeves.

He picked her up and swung her around ecstatically as they danced well into the night. Feeling a little tipsy Gwaine got down on one knee before his beloved.

Vivian's jaw dropped. She berated him, "Are you seriously going to propose to me in front of a burning whore house on the night of my father's funeral?!"

Tristan added with a chuckle, "She's right Gwaine. This is the worst proposal ever."

"No," Vivian shook her head. "I've actually had a worse proposal from him. Believe it or not this is a step up."

Gwaine replied with playful sarcasm and a shrug of his shoulders, "Have I ever claimed to be a romantic? Is it my fault your ass looks amazing in the color black?"

"You are truly tactless," Vivian declared with a laugh.

Gwaine gave his devilish grin. "Yes, but I'm also honest. Will you marry me?"

Tears filled Vivian's eyes as she nodded yes. He rose and she held up her hair while he clasped the ruby necklace around her neck. Vivian gingerly caressed the beautiful charm with her fingertips.

She looked up at Gwaine and asked with total happiness in her heart, "Does your family's crest suit me? How do I look?"

Gwaine took Vivian in his arms and declared, "Absolutely beautiful."

As their lips met Gwaine found a final revelation, and for once it was a good one. He knew beyond the shadow of a doubt the right girl was wearing the necklace. He could feel every bit of love she possessed for him in that fated kiss they shared, their bodies warmed by the beautiful blaze. For that moment time stood still. The entire world disappeared and all that remained was each other. Gwaine vowed at that very moment. He would live for her, die for her, and he would love her for the rest of his life.

-The End-

**If you're interested in what happens with Lamia as well as the drama with Arthur working the fields please refer to the story **_**The League of Falcons. **_**If you want to see Vivian and Gwaine face off with Lord Olaf on the battlefront please read **_**The Slave & the Soldier. **_**Thank you so much for reading, reviewing, following, and favoriting **_**House of the Rising Sun**_**! I do hope that you enjoyed it! :^)**

**-Embrasia-**


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